Falling Through Cracks
by The Prickly Pear
Summary: G Callen has always slipped through the cracks. Over the years they became his hiding place, somewhere all his secrets could be tucked away, but when trouble hits and his team begins looking through them, what secrets will those cracks reveal? Team-Centric. No Pairings.
1. Chapter 1

_**Title:**_

_Falling Through Cracks_

_**Author:**_

_The Prickly Pear_

_**Genre:**_

_Friendship/Hurt/Comfort/Angst_

_**Rating:**_

_M (For mature themes, mental illness and coarse language)_

_**Summary:**_

_G Callen has always slipped through the cracks. Over the years they became his hiding place, somewhere all his secrets could be hidden. But when trouble hits and his team begins looking through them, what secrets will those cracks reveal?_

_**Author's Note:**_

_This was my first ever NCIS Los Angeles fanfiction, but I have gone back over all the old chapters and edited them as of December, 2012. When I started this fic, I had no plot in mind and just went where the characters took me, which resulted in my muse drying up completely just before the finish. Now, I have never managed to finish a multi-chapter story in all the years I've been writing so I'm taking another swing at this one hoping to change that. Wish me luck, and please enjoy the ride._

_Oh, one more thing. Please keep in mind that this piece is set early in Season One, before Deeks came into the picture and before Dom died (though his is missing.)_

_**Disclaimer:**_

_Any characters you recognize are property of NCIS Los Angeles's rightful owners. All the Original Characters, however, belong to me. These characters may not be used in any form without my express permission. This fanfiction is written solely for my amusement, no money has been made whatsoever._

_**Happy Reading!**_

* * *

**Chapter One**

They had their morning routine worked out, he and Sam. It was practiced and well worn and surprisingly functional considering it involved the two of them. He would wake (or more often than not simply decided it was time to stop trying to sleep and get up,) prepare himself for the day ahead then swing by Sam's place to pick him up on the way to work. Despite Sam's constant complaining that he was late picking him up, or that he took the long route in, it had been the older agent's idea to begin the routine in the first place and Callen wasn't stupid, the ulterior motive was clear. This routine was his partner's excuse to make sure he wasn't spending his nights at headquarters again. For some reason Sam didn't think grown men should have to resort to living at work while between homes, again.

It wasn't like he was all that picky about his living conditions or that he liked moving around constantly, it simply came naturally to him. It was all he had ever known. A childhood of bouncing from foster home to foster home followed by a career of doing much the same thing between agencies meant that settling down was something completely foreign to him. He chuckled slightly as the image of an elderly version of himself turning in for the night on the couch at the OSP headquarters flashed before his eyes. Was it sad that he could see this so clearly in his mind? Probably, but he didn't care, NCIS's most top secret branch felt more like home than any other place he had ever rested his head. Hetty should really never have given him a key.

Shaking his head with a slight smile he glanced down at his watch to find he was actually seven minutes ahead of schedule. Sam would be proud, he might actually be early for once. The pop of the toaster drew his attention and he pulled the pieces daftly from the machine, buttered them and ate them quickly. With breakfast taken care of he moved into what could just barely qualify as a living room and grabbed his battered old duffle bag off the couch, slinging it easily over his shoulder. He picked up his gun as well and tucked it away in the waistband of his jeans just as a loud knocking rang out from his front door.

* * *

Sam Hanna would be the first to admit that he was a punctual person and that he expected the same courtesy from the people around him. It was that expectation which had his moon spiraling downwards fast as he checked his watch for the third time in five minutes. Callen should have arrived at his house twenty minutes ago, there was now absolutely no chance the two of them would make it to work on time and Hetty was going to chew them both out when they finally did arrive. Whenever that was going to be. He wondered if perhaps he should call her, warn her that they were going to be late and plead his case seeing as their impending tardiness was his partner's fault. Or better yet maybe he should just call G and tell him to get his shinny ass moving.

Simply out of frustration it was Callen's number he dialled first. Pacing up and down the sidewalk he waited for an answer but none came, instead the automated voice of Callen's answering machine greeted him and he hung up angrily. But the anger didn't last long, for as he continued to pace it occurred to him that as much as he complained about his partner's arrival times, he had never been this late before. Ten minutes, sure, but going on thirty, never. Warning bells began to chime in Sam's head and he hurriedly dialled Callen's number once more to the same end, the emotionless voice telling him his partner was unavailable at this time.

Sam stared up and down his street once more but he could see no sign of his partner's vehicle. "Dammit, G," he muttered, and hurried to his own car.

By the time Sam arrived at OSP headquarters it was nearly ten o'clock so he was not at all surprised to find Hetty waiting for him in the bullpen. With her arms folded and a disapproving scowl on her face the tiny woman somehow managed to look quite intimidating. She looked him up and down as he stopped in front of her and he made a point not to look away. "So nice of you to finally join us, Mr. Hanna," she remarked dryly.

"Hetty," Sam cut across her hurriedly, hoping she wouldn't snap at his rudeness, "Is G here?"

"Mr. Callen? No, I was under the impression that you two came in together."

Sam looked away and sighed, worry beginning to claw at his insides. "He didn't show this morning," he replied shaking his head slightly, "I tried calling him but he isn't answering."

Hetty's demeanour changed immediately. Her face turned from disapproving to concerned and she lowered her arms to her sides. "We take no chances Mr. Hanna, gather the team."

'We take no chances.' Ever since Dom had disappeared it had become Hetty's mantra when it came to her agents' safety. It had become all their mantras' for that matter, they would not, could not, loose another friend. Sam sighed as he glanced around, studying each of his coworkers closely in the artificial light shinnying from the huge screens around them. Kensi stood nearest the screens with her back against the table in the middle of the room and her arms folded. Her mask of professionalism was in place as always but Sam could still see the worry in her mismatched eyes as she stared icily at the screen. Hetty stood only a few paces away, her hands clasp in front of her - a sign of nerves Sam knew - as she too stared at the screen. Nate had chosen to stand away from the others slightly, studying the scene around him with his brow furrowed. Their eyes met for a split second but Nate dropped his gaze quickly, clearly realizing now was not the time.

Eric was typing as quickly as he could manage, chewing at his bottom lip and fidgeting in his chair. "I'm activating the GPS in Callen's phone," he told them all in a voice of forced calm.

"Put it on-screen," Sam ordered.

A huge map of LA flashed to life on the screen before them, a flashing red dot in the middle of downtown drawing all of their attention.

"Well, he's not at home…" Eric said slowly.

"No," Kensi agreed, "That's the LAPD's main station, what the hell is Callen doing there?"

Sam could only shrug, he had absolutely no idea what his partner would be doing at a police station of all places but the warning bells in his head continued to chime and he sighed. Callen was a lone wolf, that much was true, which made him liable to get up to his neck in something without any of his team knowing but still something about this felt wrong. The same thought seemed to have struck everyone else for a strained silence fell over all of them. For several minutes they stood starting at the blinking red dot on the diagram of twisting streets and buildings that was Los Angeles until finally Kensi spoke.

"It's wrong," she said, turning away from the screen and pacing slightly as she spoke, "Callen wouldn't go to a police station, it's just wrong."

Sam nodded in agreement. "And he'd never miss a shift," he added, thinking out loud. "He lives for his job, it's hard enough to convince him to stay away when he's injured, when he's healthy it's impossible. There's no way he's missing work voluntarily."

"Sam's right," Nate confirmed, moving to join the others around the screen. "I think we need to find out what's going on."

"Obviously," Sam muttered a little more coldly than he expected, "Eric, can you get eyes inside the station?"

The computer tech looked up at the mention of his name. "Not without hacking their system, which would be illegal and they're cops…" He paused, caught the look on Sam's face and added hastily, "But I could do it, if you want me to…"

Sam was about to reply when his cell phone began vibrating in his pocket. Pulling it out he glanced at the call display and was met with the sight of a number he didn't recognize but he answered it anyway. "Hanna."

"Sam? It's Callen."

There was no doubting his partner's voice. He sounded tense but otherwise fine and Sam let out a sigh of relief. "G, what the hell are you doing a LAPD?" he demanded.

"How do you –" Callen began then paused and Sam could almost see the younger man rolling his eyes, "Nevermind, look I've got a bit of a situation here. I got a surprise visit this morning, from a bunch of cops… With handcuffs…"

"What are you on about?" Sam asked, shaking his head.

"I've been arrested Sam, that's what," Callen replied, a slight edge making its way into his voice.

"What!?" said Sam incredulously, "What the hell for?"

"They're saying I killed someone –"

"WHAT?!" Sam yelled, his jaw hanging open slightly.

"Jesus, Sam, I liked that eardrum," Callen muttered from the other end of the line, "Look I have no idea what's going on, alright? They're not telling me anything, they won't even say who I'm supposed to have killed."

Sam shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did they arrest you as Callen?" he asked finally.

"Yep," G replied, the edge returning to his voice.

"But I thought you always live under an alias," Sam said slowly.

"I do."

"But then how the hell…?" the dark skinned man left the question hanging, letting his eyes travel around the room in search of inspiration. None of this made sense, Callen never lived under his own name, it was one of the advantages of growing up the way he had, there was no one around to miss him when he disappeared.

"I have no idea Sam, not a clue." The edge had returned in full force and Sam could tell his partner was nervous. This was bad.

"Okay…" He said slowly, "We're gonna figure this out, you just hang in there and don't do anything stupid."

"Right…" Callen replied with a slight sigh, "Just hurry your ass up, I hate police stations."

And then he was gone as the phone line went dead. Sam lowered his cellphone slowly and turned it off before slipping it back into his pocket, all with the same slow precision. The team was staring at him, waiting; each one seemed to be holding their breath.

"Callen's been arrested," he said finally, "And not one of his aliases, they arrested Callen."

"On what charge," said Hetty immediately, stepping forward.

Sam sighed. "Murder."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_They were too tight, pinching and bruising as he wriggled against them but they wouldn't budge. With tiny hands he scratched and clawed at them but they didn't shift or move at all. Why had they made them so tight? His shoulders ached now and his tummy too, the clip was pressing in, jabbing him with its sides. He cried out, complained it was too tight but nothing changed. Pulling his bear closer he hugged it to his chest for he was suddenly scared, scared that he couldn't move, scared that no one answered him. Then there came a crash, a huge crash and he bounced violently. The bear almost slipped from his grasp as he was pressed back into his seat but he regained his grip just as the second crash came, just as big as the first, and he lurched forward. The water came next, so much water and he cried out again but only bubbles emerged, surrounding him, blinding him. Clutching the bear as tight he could he flung himself against the straps until the darkness of the water took him. _

Callen blinked and lifted his head from his arms where it had been resting since he was left in this tiny interrogation room several hours ago. Rubbing his eyes he sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. It wasn't like him to fall asleep during the day but he knew chances were that once the interrogation started he wouldn't be allowed any more chances to rest so he'd made the choice to take it now. Of course the fact that he'd managed to fall asleep at all was a minor miracle and he wasn't betting on that happening again either. Now staring at the ceiling he allowed his mind to wander back to the dream which had woken him. He'd forgotten about the bear, hell he'd forgotten about a lot, but he couldn't help wondering what had happened to it. Had it floated away when he passed out or had that been where they got his name? Tilting his head thoughtfully Callen decided it was probably the latter, I mean, who put their full name on toys anyway?

He was brought back to reality by the interrogation room door which swung open without warning, revealing an older man in a grey suit who was carrying a large cardboard box with 'Callen' written across it in thick, black letters. Still, by the time the new arrival looked his way, the agent had wiped his face clear of all emotions with a practiced ease and raised one eyebrow as he fought off the overwhelming urge to smirk. How desperate were these cops, bringing in a box of blank paper to try and put him on edge? He knew for a fact they had nothing on him; G Callen didn't exist, he hadn't existed in nearly twenty years, the FBI had taken care of that deleting any record of him when they recruited him directly out of the Army. The promise of being able to disappear completely had been what drew him to undercover work, along with being able to live as people with actual family histories for a change.

"So," said the man, closing the door behind him and setting the box down on the table before taking a seat across from Callen, "You're G Callen, correct?"

Callen folded his hands on his lap and eyed the older man with a blank expression. "Well you clearly seem to think I am," he replied in a bored tone of voice.

The man looked him over coolly. "I'm Detective Bronstrum," he supplied, clearly studying Callen's reaction, "Do you have any idea why you're here?"

Callen leaned back in his chair once more, balancing it on two legs and rocking slightly. "Not a clue, Detective," he replied in the same bored voice.

Bronstrum nodded slowly. "Alright," he said calmly, "Are you aware that there's no status of limitations on murders?"

Callen narrowed his eyes slightly; this was not the questions he'd been expecting. "Yeah, I'm aware of that. What are you getting at?"

He may not be as good as Nate, but Callen could still read people quite well, it was one of the things that kept him alive undercover and at the moment he was studying Detective Bronstrum as closely as he could without it being obvious. The detective was clearly confident, and knew he was holding all the cards. His smugness seemed to seep from every inch of his body and from the pleasure he was taking in holding information just out of his reach, Callen could tell he was the type of person who enjoyed breaking people in interrogation.

"You're a particularly difficult man to find, Mr. Callen," the detective said airily, skimming over his suspect's question with ease, "Very difficult in fact."

"Am I?" G replied, being sure to sound unconcerned while wondering for the millionth time how they had even managed to find him. It was like he'd told Sam, he never lived under his own name; everything he owned was under one alias or another.

"You must have paid someone good money to get your past erased Mr. Callen," Bronstrum continued, ignoring Callen's remark, "How long has it been since you've heard that name anyway? About twenty years I believe, does that sound about right?"

Callen said nothing and watched as the smug smile on the detective's face grew.

"That's about the time this guy showed up," the older man continued, reaching into the cardboard box between them and pulling out a file which he flipped open, "Thomas Veser, you run your own small business, own the apartment where we picked you up and have no criminal record unless you count a handful of speeding tickets."

Behind the carefully crafted mask of indifference Callen's mind was buzzing. So they'd somehow found Veser, though how they'd managed to put two and two together he had no idea. Veser had been one of his first aliases and had stuck with him even when he had changed agencies. He was his security blanket, the name he used to buy things, and the one under which all his personal belongings were registered. Veser was the only one of his aliases who was nearly his own person, the business Bronstrum had mentioned was an add-on to OSP and run by the agency, he owned whatever apartment Callen decided to call home and he was a member of at least two local gyms.

Sighing he decided to play it truthfully, or at least not to deny Veser's existence. He let his chair fall back on to four legs with a bang and leaned forwards on the table. "Alright, I changed my name. It's not a crime to want a fresh start Bronstrum," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "Besides, G wasn't much of a name anyway."

Detective Bronstrum nodded slightly then sighed. "Well here's the thing Mr. Callen," he said and Callen noticed he was purposely using that name instead of Veser's, "Thomas Veser may seem like a decent man but you, not so much." He reached into the box again and pulled out yet another file, much thicker than the last. "You see all electronic records of you might be gone, but it just so happens that this department is old-school enough that we still write everything down. The next time you hire someone to make you disappear, Mr. Callen, tell them to make sure they get the paper copies too." With that he flipped open the latest file and looked it over. "Between the ages of ten and eighteen you were arrested nineteen times for everything from shoplifting to assault with a deadly weapon to possession with intent to sell," he paused, "You did five stints in a juvenile detention center and one in the state prison all before joining the military at twenty one."

Callen laughed coldly and shook his head. "Alright, you dug up my past, congratulations. I was a pissed off, miserable kid, my life sucked, but it was twenty years ago, what does it have to do with anything?" He was frustrated now more than anything else, he didn't like people knowing this much about him, hell even his own team didn't know about the criminal record which had been hidden for so long. As it stood the FBI would be getting a phone call to discuss their ability (or apparent lack there off) to make someone disappear. How stupid could they get not to realize that the police in particular would keep paper copies of everything?

"May 28th, 1983, does that date ring a bell?" Bronstrum asked, again ignoring Callen's comments, "You would have been fourteen, I believe."

"Well there're a lot of days in my past detective, you'll have to give me something more to go off," Callen replied, his eyes narrowed as he tried to see where this was going.

"Alright," the detective agreed, he reached into the box again and pulled out a large photograph which he studied for a moment. "That would have been the day you drug the dead body of a young boy past the alley security camera of a local business." He set the picture down and slid it over to Callen. "That's a still taken from the video."

Callen lifted the picture in a sort of daze. It showed two young boys, one – dark haired and the younger of the two – was hanging limply over the shoulders of the older boy and covered in blood. The older boy didn't look much better, his blond hair was filthy and his arms and face were also covered in blood. Callen swallowed the lump which had risen in his throat at the sight but apart from that managed to keep his face empty of emotions.

"Horrible, isn't it?" said Bronstrum, who had been watching him closely, "We just found the younger one's body, or what was left of it anyway. And you did that Mr. Callen, you shot him three times in the chest, you hid his body so no one would ever find him, you murdered a child."

Callen was shaking his head, fighting to keep a lid on his emotions. "I didn't kill him," he said softly, looking up and meeting the detective's eyes, "I didn't."

"But you admit that's you in the picture?" Bronstrum prodded.

"Yes," said Callen who could see no way of getting around that, "That's me, but I didn't kill him, I swear."

Bronstrum tapped his finger on Callen's criminal record beside him, his eyes never leaving those of his suspect. "You were a violent child Mr. Callen," he said coldly, "So don't be too surprised when I tell you that I think you're a lair, and I know you killed him."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Sam had always been the kind of person who watched clocks. Time, in his mind, was measured down to the nearest second. Around 12:00 just didn't cut it with him, did that mean 11:59 or was it more like 11:49? There was a full ten minute difference there after all. It was one of the first things he had noticed about Callen when they were assigned as partners. G didn't care about time, or time limits, or deadlines for that matter; close enough was good enough to him and he didn't stress himself over five or ten minutes here and there. It had been a source of great annoyance to Sam until he realized that it was just the way Callen made sense of the world, things were simply what they were to him, time included. It was days like today that Sam wished he could be more like Callen, he had checked his watch four times in the past five minutes growing more and more frustrated each time. It had been exactly six hours since G had called him from the station, and slightly more than that since he'd been arrested and still they had nothing.

Across the bullpen from him Kensi had out her cell phone and was dialling quickly. "I'm tired of sitting here doing nothing," she said in response to his questioning look, "I figure I'll call them and see if maybe they'll tell me anything."

"They're not going to tell you–" Sam began but Kensi, who now had her phone to her ear, held up a finger, effectively silencing him.

"Hi, yeah my name's Samantha Callen," she said in a slightly more feminine voice than was usual for her, "G Callen's my older brother, he called me from your station this morning, said you had him in custody, something about some murder? I was just wondering if you could tell me what's going on because my brother didn't kill anyone."

Sam watched as Kensi fell silent, clearly listening to whomever it was she was talking to, and then raised his eyebrows as he saw her eyes narrow.

"Well you must have the wrong file then," she snapped, "You don't seem to have a clue what you're talking about over there. I want to know why you've arrested my brother and I don't give a damn why you think you can't tell me!"

There was another silence and Sam saw Kensi's eyes flash dangerously.

"Fine!" she was nearly yelling now, "Fine don't tell me then! I'll find out on my own, you mark my words. And don't you go thinking I'm letting this go either! When my brother is found innocent I'm suing your ass!" And with that she tossed the cell phone down angrily.

"I told you they wouldn't tell you anything..." Sam sighed, even though he couldn't help but feel a stab of disappointment at the outcome.

"Shut up," Kensi muttered, picking her cell phone back up and checking it for damage, "They didn't believe he had a sister, said it wasn't in the file..."

"That's because he doesn't have a sister," Sam pointed out.

Kensi threw him a dirty look. "Well if you have a better idea..." she snapped.

Sam didn't respond and silence overtook them, an angry, tense silence that seemed capable of suffocating them if they weren't careful.

After a moment Kensi stood up and sighed. "I gotta move," she muttered, "I'm going to go see if Eric or someone needs help, I can't just sit here..."

Sam nodded and watched her leave, running one hand over his head in frustration. He, like Kensi, felt useless just sitting there but unlike his co-worker he didn't feel it would be particularly wise for him to go be around the others. He had a short temper when it came to things like this. He had been racking his brain since Callen's phone call trying to figure out when his partner could have been around a murder and so far had come up with nothing. G hadn't been on any deep-cover missions since being shot, and his last couple before that hadn't involved killing anyone that he knew of. And there was always the fact that it was G Callen who had been arrested, not one of his aliases who ran a far higher chance of being involved in something like this...

Sam shook his head. None of this made sense, not even a little bit and he wished that he could just march into the police station and demand Callen's side of the story, if there even was a story, which he wasn't sure there was... With a groan he leaned back in his chair and massaged his temples. Why, when it came to cases involving their own, were they so goddamn useless?

"Sam!" Kensi had reappeared at the top of the stairs and was now beckoning him towards her, "Get up here!"

Sam was up and moving as if he'd been shot from a cannon. In five seconds he had crossed the bullpen and was pelting up the stairs to join Kensi in the Ops room. The others were already gathered there, Nate and Kensi stood shoulder to shoulder watching Eric type quickly on his computer.

"What have you got Eric?" Sam asked before any of the others could speak.

Eric spun around on his chair and took a deep breath. "Okay so I haven't been able to find any kind of info on the charges against Callen –" he began.

"That's what you haven't got Eric," Sam pointed out coolly.

"I know! I know that," said the computer tech quickly, "But what I have been able to do is get us eyes on Callen." He hit a few keys and an image appeared on the main screen before them. "I hacked into the LAPD's security cameras for the whole building," he explained, "Their firewalls were intense, that's why it took me a while. Anyway, I managed to find Callen; the camera we're looking at is the security camera for the interrogation room they're keeping him in."

Sam studied the image Eric had projected. Callen sat alone at a table similar to the one they had in their own interrogation room. He was hunched over somewhat, holding a photo of some kind before him and staring at it with an empty expression on his face.

It was the expression that the dark skinned agent didn't like, it reminded him of every time Callen had closed off his emotions during a particularly rough case or when he tried to ask him something even mildly personal. He rocked back on forth on the balls of his feet for a moment then turned back to Eric. "Can we get audio?" he asked.

Eric shook his head. "No, it doesn't work like that," he explained, "The audio in the interrogation room is a closed circuit, there's no way I can get in."

"What about getting a message to Callen?" Kensi asked, "Like doing something to get his attention so he at least knows we can see him, or something?"

Eric looked uncertain. "I could do it," he said, "Only problem is that anything that gets Callen's attention will get the cops' attention too and I don't think they'd be too happy knowing someone was messing around with their equipment."

"Then don't do it," Sam cut in curtly, "We can't have the cops knowing G's NCIS, there's got to be another way."

"Every suspect has the right to an attorney, do they not?"

The team turned to see Hetty standing in the doorway, the light from the screen reflecting eerily in her glasses.

"That they do, Hetty," said Sam, a grin spreading across his face as her plan became clear in his mind, "That they do..." 

* * *

Sam could tell Nate was nervous; the shrink was fiddling with the sleeves of the suit Hetty had picked out for him and chewing at his bottom lip. Not that Sam could really blame him; being tossed into your first undercover assignment with only five minutes warning would be enough to put anyone on edge, particularly someone with no formal training, or informal training come to that.

"Relax, Nate," said Kensi bracingly as she installed the button-cam in his suit jacket, "You'll be just fine. We'll talk you through everything. All you have to do is convince them you're Callen's lawyer, that's it. You studied law at school, this should be easy."

"Yeah," said Nate, sounding slightly panicked, "I studied it for about half a semester!"

"That's half a semester more than the rest of us," Sam pointed out, "Besides, you're the only one who looks the part; I mean could you really see me pulling off a lawyer?"

Nate nodded. "Right," he said softly.

"Okay, run through everything again, Nate," said Kensi, stepping back to stand next to Sam.

"My name is Benjamin Mueller, I'm a lawyer from Los Angeles, I've never married and have no children, I've been a public defender for six years, I'm thirty-seven years old..." he rattled off them fell silent again and began tugging at his sleeves once more.

"Perfect," said Sam quickly, before Nate could begin doubting himself again, "That's all you need to know. Now, when you go in me and Kensi will be giving you instructions. Just get alone with Callen, that's all you need to do. When you're around anyone else let G lead, he'll pick up on what we're doing in a heartbeat and help you out."

"Right," Kensi continued, "Make sure you don't try to look for cues from him though, because remember, you've never met him before."

"And keep in mind that you're there to get a lay of the land so do your psychologist mumbo-jumbo on everyone you see," Sam added, "And find out what the hell is going on. Talk to Callen, chances are he's already started prodding around to try and figure it out himself, he might have something for us."

"Your earwig, Mr. Getz," said Hetty appearing behind them. She walked forward and handed the tiny piece of equipment to him, "Put it in there nice and deep and make certain you can hear clearly, we'll be giving you instructions through it."

Nate nodded and inserted the earwig. "Remind me again why I'm not just slipping Callen a wire?"

"It's too risky," Hetty sighed, "Too many chances of someone spotting the wire. No, this is safer, even if you don't think it is."

Sam moved forward and clapped Nate on the shoulder. "You got this man," he said bracingly, ignoring how his own nerves were beginning to tingle and how the muscles in his jaw had tightened, "Now let's find out what the hell is going on before Callen goes and does something stupid."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Walking into the Los Angeles Police Department ranked, without a doubt, as one of the most terrifying experiences of his life. Pushing the door open, Nate made his way inside fully aware of the fact that his only backup was Sam, giving him instructions through his earwig and Kensi, positioned outside and ready to run in and pull him out should things go bad. Breathing deeply he forced himself to remain calm and looked around the station. There was a desk in front of him and a woman sitting behind it, taking one last deep breath he moved forward and cleared his throat.

"Um, hi. My name is Benjamin Muller, I'm a Public Defender here to represent a Mr. G Callen," he said, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice, "I was wondering where I might find him."

The woman looked up at him from her seat. "Can I see some identification please?" she asked.

"Oh, right, of course," said Nate quickly, slapping himself mentally for not remembering to provide it off the bat. He pulled out his wallet and handed the woman the driver's licence Hetty had made for him.

The woman looked at it closely and then looked up at Nate, clearly comparing the two before handing it back to him with a nod. "Mr. Callen is being held in an interrogation room at the moment," she said, "I can have the detective in charge of his case show you there if you'd like."

"Yes – yes that would be good," Nate nodded, "Thank you."

As the woman turned and busied herself with her phone, Nate let out a shaky breath and turned away from her.

"Easy, Nate," said Sam reassuringly through the earwig, "You got this, you're doing great just stay calm."

Nate didn't miss the irony of a psychologist being told to stay calm by one of the men he consoled on a regular basis, but it was reassuring all the same. He could do this, and for Callen's sake he would do this. Turning back to the desk he waited patiently until an older man in a grey suit with his hair slicked back appeared through one of the doors.

"Mr. Muller?" the man asked, approaching him.

Nate nodded. "That would be me, Sir."

They shook hands briefly and the older man smiled. "I'm Detective Bronstrum," he introduced himself, "So you're here to represent G Callen, eh?"

"Yes Sir, that's right," Nate replied, "I was just handed the assignment a few hours ago."

Detective Bronstrum sighed and led the way through the door through which he had entered. "Well I wish you luck," he said over his shoulder as they walked.

"Why's that?" Nate asked, falling into step beside him.

They turned a corner and Detective Bronstrum stopped outside an interrogation room door. "Alright, I'm gonna be straight with you Mr. Muller," he said, "Your client is a monster. From what the autopsy managed to find the boy he murdered was probably twelve years old, maybe less, and he shot him three times in the chest. I'll warn you now; I'm going for the death penalty on this."

"Read him, Nate," Sam hissed in his ear.

This was one instruction Nate didn't actually need. He was already reading the detective before him and he had been since they started walking. The man was angry, genuinely angry to the core about this case. His shoulders were tense, along with all the muscles in his arms and neck and his face was pinched into valiant attempt at an indifferent mask. Even without calling Callen a monster, Nate could tell the detective had no love for the agent, in fact on a personal level it seemed he disliked him. Nate couldn't help but wonder just how annoying Callen had been up until this point; after all he did have the ability to send even the calmest of people into a boiling rage with only a few words. But there was more to it than that, as he spoke the detective had been subconsciously fingering his wedding band. Clearly he was married, and based on his reaction to the case Nate guessed he probably had children; most likely of a similar age to the boy Callen had supposedly killed. This case was going to be very personal for Bronstrum, which could prove problematic for Callen should the detective start taking his frustration out on him.

Clearly not expecting a response to his last statement Detective Bronstrum pushed open the interrogation room door and gestured for Nate to enter it. "He's all yours, Muller, but I'm not leaving this doorway."

Nate nodded, he hadn't expected anything different. Bronstrum was a control freak, that much had also become clear. He moved into the interrogation room and looked Callen over critically. The agent was stressed and probably quite angry as well but unlike Bronstrum, Callen had the ability to almost completely hide the emotions. In fact if Nate didn't know Callen as well as he did he probably would have missed the slight hunch in his back and the way one foot was bouncing slightly under the table. Allowing his eyes to wander over said table Nate's eyes fell on the photo he and the team had seen through the security cam, lying between Callen's outstretched arms. However the moment he tried to take a closer look at the contents of the image Callen casually shifted his arms to it vanished from sight beneath his sleeves.

"So, are you supposed to be the good cop? You know, the one who becomes my best friend," said Callen calmly, his face sliding into a perfect smirk, "Or are you meant to make old Bronstrum over there look like some fuzzy teddy bear?"

"Go with it Nate" came Sam's voice from his ear, "He's gonna play the cocky asshole, you've got to stand your ground."

Nate took a quick breath and tried look professional. "Neither," he said as calmly as he could manage, "I'm your lawyer, Mr. Callen."

Callen raised one eyebrow sceptically and looked him up and down. "No offence man, but I don't need a lawyer. I haven't done anything wrong; this is all just some big misunderstanding."

"All the same," Nate pushed on, "A lawyer would be a good idea, Mr. Callen, particularly as this is, like you said, a big misunderstanding. Having someone who could help make them understand couldn't hurt, could it?"

From the doorway detective Bronstrum let out a cold snort of laughter but Callen ignored him and Nate, following his lead as Sam had told him too, did the same.

"No, it probably couldn't hurt," Callen conceded, "But your pay stub could. I'm not the richest man in the world, you know."

"I'm from the Public Defenders' Office" said Nate quickly, "My name is Benjamin Muller, my services can be offered to you almost free of charge if that's what you require financially."

"What is this, a sales pitch?" said G with a slight chuckle, "Look, I don't want a lawyer, I don't need a lawyer, that's all there is to it."

Nate sighed, he knew he'd have to try a new tactic; the character Callen was playing was not going to give in if he kept using the same approach. He knew the most common reason for someone in that position to refuse the help of a lawyer was a fear that it would make them look guilty and he decided to use that. "Look, accepting a lawyer is not an admission of guilt," he said in a far more confident voice than he'd been expecting, "Not at all, but rather it's more of a preventative measure against being incarcerated unjustly."

"Incarcerated unjustly?" Callen laughed, "Hell man, what you'd do, swallow a thesaurus before you came in here? That's a mouthful that is."

"Quit being a smartass, Callen," said Detective Bronstrum from the doorway, speaking for the first time since entering the interrogation room. "This man might be the only human being alive willing to help your sorry, murdering ass."

Callen studied the detective for a moment then sighed in a content sort of way and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head and addressing Nate. "It's like I said before," he said calmly, "I don't need a lawyer, I haven't done anything and I don't plan on doing anything. I'm sorry man, I'm sure you're good and all but I really don't need any help."

"Keep pushing, Nate," Sam instructed through the earwig, "He'll give in but you've got to give him a reason."

Nate had to fight the urge to nod. Focusing instead on trying to come up with yet another tactic to get Callen to say yes to a lawyer his eyes came to rest on the exposed corner of the photo still casually hidden beneath Callen's arms. Before the agent had a chance to react Nate had snatched it away from him and turned so he was out of reach.

The picture shocked him. He had known, of course, that Callen had been arrested for murder and Detective Bronstrum had mentioned it was a child who'd been killed but what Nate hadn't expected was to see it on film. The blood-soaked boy hanging limply over Callen's shoulder looked all of the twelve years old the coroner had estimated him to be, dark haired and pale in death.

Taking a breath Nate looked up at Callen who met his gaze and held it and the psychologist knew what he had to do. "Alright Mr. Callen, let me be completely honest with you," he said, his voice full of a confidence which hadn't been there since he entered the station, "This picture looks bad. I don't care how innocent you really are, with this kind of evidence they will eat you alive you without help."

Callen didn't even try to hide his surprise at Nate's approach, one eyebrow shot up and he gave Nate a questioning look. He remained silent for a moment before nodding slowly. "So... Say I wanted to change my mind?" he said softly.

"I'd say that's a good idea," Nate replied.

Callen nodded again. "Alright, maybe I do need a lawyer," he conceded.

Nate didn't wait to see if Callen had anything else to say and turned instead to Detective Bronstrum, still holding on to the photo. "I'd like to have a word with my client alone please, somewhere private if you don't mind," he told him.

Detective Bronstrum nodded stiffly. "You can use our conference room," he sighed. 

* * *

The conference room was bright, filled with natural light from the large window at one end. The walls were a pale yellow and in the center of the room was a long table to which Callen had been chained by Detective Bronstrum upon entering. Nate had remained silent since entering the room, listening to Eric mutter away in his ear about technology he didn't understand.

Finally the computer tech spoke up. "Okay, the room's clear, Nate, you're all good."

Nate nodded and looked around again with a sigh before glancing over at Callen who was looking at him expectantly.

"So... We good?" he asked pointedly.

"What?" said Nate, looking momentarily confused, "Oh, yes, we're good, the room's clear."

Callen nodded settling back as comfortably as he could with his wrists chained to the table. "Not bad, you know," he said with a slight smirk.

"What's not bad?" Nate asked, taking a seat across from him.

"You, undercover as a lawyer," said Callen, now grinning, "Not too bad."

"Really? I mean, I was kind of terrified..."

"Kind of?" Callen teased, "Nah, I'm just kidding, you did good, you hardly let that show."

Nate swelled with pride slightly at Callen's words but glanced down at the photo in his hands and felt the feeling dissipate as quickly as it had come. With a sigh he set the image on the table between them and sighed. "What the hell's going on, Callen?" he asked.

The agent sighed and looked away from the photo, the playful light which had been in his eyes as he teased the psychologist had gone out and the emotionless mask was back in place. "I have no idea, Nate, I really don't," he said firmly.

Nate shook his head. "Callen they have a photo of you with their victim over your shoulder, you can't tell honestly me you don't know what's going on. I know you know something!" He looked down at the photo again and felt a stab of cold dread pass through his gut, "My god Callen, did you kill him?"

Callen stared at him. "Of course not!" he snapped angrily.

Nate nodded, feeling more relieved than he expected. "Then tell me what happened!"

Callen studied him for a moment, his face blank once more. "Fine," he said after a moment, "The boy's name is Isaac Harwood, I lived with him in a foster home for a couple of months and I used to try and look out for him. He was a good kid and it was his first home so I was just trying to give him a hand..." He paused, took a breath and seemed to consider his words before continuing, his voice growing softer. "When he got shot up I knew there was nothing that could be done for him. I knew he was going to die but I still had to try, right? I mean, I told the kid I was going to look out for him, I couldn't just leave him. So I tried to get him to the hospital, that's what the picture is, but he died on the way so I hid his body. I put it someplace where people wouldn't rob him of the clothes on his back or screw around with his corpse. I couldn't save him but I figured I could at least do that much."

Nate stared down at the photo again and sighed. He knew Callen was leaving things out, knew he didn't want to talk about what had really happened and he also knew that if he pushed the matter the agent would shut down completely. With another sigh he pushed the picture away and looked up to meet Callen's gaze. "Why didn't you call the cops?" he asked.

Callen actually laughed. "Because I didn't trust the cops back then Nate, no one did."

"Ask him what evidence they've got on him," said Sam tensely in his ear.

Nate nodded. "Sam wants to know what they've got on you," he relayed the message.

Callen shook his head. "I have no idea guys. I know they've got that picture and they have my records as G Callen and Thomas Veser but none of the other aliases, apart from that I don't know. You guys haven't been able to find anything?"

"Not a thing," Nate replied, "Look, Callen, you've got to give us something, we're running out of options here."

Callen thought for a moment then sighed. "There's a man, his name's Jared Colby, he worked as a cop when I was a kid and we got to know each other pretty well. Really well actually. I'm guessing he still works for the LAPD, Colby never struck me as the kind of guy who'd leave this job, so if you can find him maybe he can help you out."

"And you trust this guy? I mean, to help us out he'd have to almost turn against the LAPD..." said Nate slowly.

"He saved my life growing up. I owe him everything I have. Yeah," said Callen firmly, "I trust him."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Sam was pacing. He'd been pacing since Nate and Kensi left the police station twenty minutes ago, at first in the Ops Center, until Eric had actually told him to leave, and now in the bullpen. This was like Dom all over again only this time around Callen was right there in front of them, they could see him, talk to him, and still they had nothing. Taking a few deep breaths Sam forced himself to stop moving and think rationally. When Nate returned they would at least have a read on the detective in charge and Callen himself and that would be something, they also had the names Callen had given them so it wasn't like they didn't have anything at all. With a heavy sigh he took a seat at his desk and stared at the neatly organized papers and pencils and other assorted items which covered its surface. All the organization and planning in the world couldn't seem to keep Callen out of trouble; the man was a magnet if he'd ever met one.

The minutes ticked by and finally, just when Sam was about to restart his restless pacing, Nate and Kensi announced their return by hurrying into the bullpen.

"Jared Colby?" Kensi asked immediately, coming to a stop in front of Sam's desk.

"Eric's on it," the dark skinned agent replied quickly, "He'll let us know as soon as he gets anything. He's looking for records of the kid, Isaac Harwood, too."

Kensi nodded slowly and went to sit down at her desk looking rather drained. "So we've still got nothing then," she muttered.

Sam shrugged; now that the others were back his own frustration and growing despair had to go unnoticed so he forced himself into a state of somewhat calm before speaking. "We have Nate's read of the players," he pointed out, turning to face the psychologist, "What'd you get off the detective?"

Nate, who had been hovering on the edge of the bullpen, pulled a chair out from behind an empty desk and took a seat. "The case is personal for him," he said slowly, "He's married and almost certainly has children, probably close to the victim's age based on his reaction to the case. He also doesn't like Callen –"

"What, like he knows him?" Sam interrupted sharply.

Nate shook his head. "No, nothing like that, I didn't see any recognition from either of them. No, it's more like he doesn't like Callen's type, you know, like he's always bothered by child homicide cases. That and I'm guessing Callen's been pretty frustrating to deal with so far, I mean if he played the cocky guy to me he's probably been doing the same thing to Bronstrum."

Sam nodded slightly and fiddled with his pencils for a moment before letting out a soft sigh. "And Callen?" he asked, "What'd you get off him?"

It was Nate's turn to sigh now. "What do you ever get from Callen?" he pointed out, "We're talking about the man who has become the master at deflection and hiding his thoughts... All the same," he continued quickly catching the looks on both Sam and Kensi's faces, "I'm good too. He's nervous, as is expected given the circumstances, and frustrated because of how little he can do. When I asked him about the victim at first he wanted to deny knowing anything about him. When I pushed him a bit he told me that he'd lived with the kid in a foster home and tried to save him when he got shot."

"We could hear everything he told you Nate," Sam snapped, not liking how the psychologist was making it sound, "What are you getting at?"

Nate studied him for a moment before replying. "I think something happened that day that Callen doesn't want us to know about."

"You saying you think he'd guilty!?" said Kensi loudly, staring disbelievingly at him from her desk.

"No!" said Nate quickly, turning to face her, "No, not at all! I think maybe he knows what happened to Isaac."

"Then why didn't he just tell us?" Sam asked slowly.

"That's my point," Nate was clearly choosing his words carefully now, "The only reason I can think of is that whatever happened, he doesn't want us to know about it."

"You're still making it sound like you think he's guilty," said Kensi after a moment's pause.

Her voice was quieter now, but Sam could hear the accusation and anger lacing her tone and knew Nate probably sensed the danger too. When Kensi started getting frustrated like this it was always best to back off. Not that Sam could really blame her; he heard the same thing she did in Nate's words, the same doubt and uncertainties. Whether he knew it or not, the psychologist was in fact accusing their friend of being untruthful. But Kensi had not seen the video feed from Nate's button cam, nor had she heard Callen's replies to his questions and Sam, who had, found himself troubled by the fact that he could almost see where Nate was coming from. Callen had held back, he knew G well enough to have seen that, and he knew that Nate was probably right about there being something Callen didn't want to share. The only question in Sam's mind was what was important enough to his partner that he would keep it quiet at the price of his freedom.

Silence enveloped them once again. Kensi was still casting accusing glances at Nate who in turn was doing his best to look innocent. Sam wished he could simply disappear, after having waited restlessly for his coworkers' retune he now found himself craving solitude and someplace he could think. He was about to make a run from the bullpen when a sharp whistle sounded from the upper level.

"I got Colby!" Eric shouted down to them.

Sam was on his feet first, followed quickly by Nate and Kensi as the three of them pelted upstairs and skidded into the Ops center. Eric was already back at his computer, he hit a few last keys as the others entered and Jared Colby's personal information lit up the screen before them.

"Alright," said the computer tech quickly, "Jared Colby, sixty-three years old. Nothing in his personal life really jumps out, he's been married once to a Meredith Colby, she died sixteen years ago, and he has three children, all daughters. He was born and raised in a small farming town in Wisconsin, moved to LA in his early twenties with his wife and oldest daughter, joingin the police force almost as soon as he got here. As Callen suspected he's still working for the Los Angeles Police Department today. Looks like he's a detective but he still works a patrol cop's beat, one that takes him through some of the rougher parts of this city..."

Sam stared at the picture of Colby project on the screen intently. "Have you got a location Eric?" he asked.

"I've got his home address, phone number, cell, everything," Eric replied, "Looks like he's on duty right now, but I got his squad car number so if you want I can hack into the GPS and get you a location that way."

"Do that and send it to my GPS," said Sam quickly, turning to leave the room, "Kensi, you're with me." 

* * *

The flashing red dot on the Challenger's GPS screen led Sam and Kensi to a rundown subdivision on the outskirts of the city. Houses were in poor repair and even with the sun slowly setting on the horizon the streets and sidewalks were still home to the odd scruffy looking passer-by. Still following the GPS, Sam drove them through the maze of streets until they finally came upon a little dinner, rundown like everything else yet still somehow charming and oddly appealing. The parking lot out front played host to a few cars, scattered here and there amongst the stalls and including an LAPD squad car which was parked on the far side of the lot. Sam pulled into the lot as discreetly as he could and picked a spot within listening distance of the squad car yet still far enough away to appear random, lowering his window casually before turning off the engine.

"Well that's definitely his car," said Kensi from the passenger seat, "But where the hell is he?"

Sam shrugged. The squad car was empty and there was no sign of Colby in the parking lot either so he allowed his gaze to wander to the dinner's front windows and study them instead. Sure enough he caught sight of an older man dressed in a police uniform sitting at one of the window tables.

"There," he said, nodding towards the window, "Looks like he's grabbing something to eat. And he's not alone either, looks like there's a couple of kids with him."

"They can't be his," said Kensi slowly, "He's got all girls and they'd be older..."

Sam merely shrugged again. Through the window he could see that Colby and the two boys were just finishing up their meal and a moment later a waitress appeared at their table. She accepted the bills Colby handed her with a smile and a parting word as the officer ushered the boys out of the dinner. As they stepped out into the evening air Sam strained his ears to catch the words floating across the silence of the parking lot.

"See ya, Colbs!" one of the boys said with a grin.

"Yeah and thanks for the bite man," the other added.

The officer waved the thanks off and smiled. "Don't mention it guys," he said raising his voice as they started to walk off down the street to ensure they could still hear him, "And take care of yourselves, alright? I don't want to hear you've been bustin' up somebody's property again, you got it?"

Both boys raised their hands in acknowledgement and a farewell salute before disappearing down the street. The officer watched after them with a concerned expression on his face for a moment longer before sighing and making his way across the dinner parking lot towards his car.

Inside the Challenger, Sam exchanged a brief look with Kensi before stepping out of the vehicle to block Colby's path, his co-worker at his side.

"Detective Jared Colby?" he asked politely, making no attempt to move as Colby slowed and stopped facing him.

"That's me," the older man replied slowly, suspicion evident in his tone and eyes, "How can I help you two?"

"I'm Special Agent Sam Hanna, this is Special Agent Kensi Blye, we're with NCIS," said Sam still keeping his tone light and friendly, "We were wondering if we might be able to have a quick word with you."

"Somewhere private please," Kensi added from beside him.

Colby studied them for a moment, still making no visible effort to hide his wariness of both agents before him. "Can I see some ID please?" he asked finally.

Sam glanced over at Kensi who raised her eyebrows at him quizzically. Clearly Colby was someone who had learned never to take things at face value. Still he obliged and reached into his pocket, removing his wallet and handing his ID to the detective for him to inspect while next to him Kensi did the same thing.

Colby studied the IDs for a moment then nodded once. "Alright," he said, handing them back their wallets, "We can talk in my car, it's private enough."

"So who were the boys?" Kensi asked as Colby led them over to the squad car.

Reaching the car the detective opened the rear door and looked back at her, gesturing for her to climb in. "Just a couple of rebellious orphans," he replied dismissively, "No one NCIS needs to be concerned with."

While Colby shut the door for Kensi, Sam slid into the passenger seat. A moment later the detective had joined them, settling into the driver's seat and turning to face them. Sam could tell that Colby was going to keep his cards close to his chest at least until he knew what they were after and even then he was beginning to doubt he would give them much. He wanted to believe that Callen was right about him being willing to help them but he also wondered just how long it had been since his partner had actually talked to this guy.

"We're not here about the boys," said Kensi kindly from her seat in the back, "I was just wondering, that's all."

Colby sighed softly. "I bought them dinner, that's all," he explained, "Better I get it for them rather than them having to steal it." With that he turned to Sam, a grim smile on his face. "So, what can I do for NCIS?" he asked.

"Are you aware of a case your department is working right now, the murder of a young boy back in 1983?" Sam asked, being sure to leave out Callen's name.

"Yes, I'm aware of the case but not part of it," Colby replied, his voice growing cold, "What exactly is NCIS's interest in it?"

Sam ignored his question, skimming over it easily and posing another of his own. "Do you know a man by the name of G Callen?"

"That's the man who's been arrested for the murder," said Colby, his eyes narrowing once more.

"But you don't know him personally?" Kensi prompted, drawing the detective's eyes to her, "I mean, you've never spoken to him or anything."

"I haven't spoken to Callen in twenty years," Colby snapped.

"But you did know him," Sam concluded, cutting across him.

"When he was a kid, yes I knew him," Colby was looking frustrated now but he kept his head, "Look, you still haven't answered my question. What does NCIS want with this case, there's no Navy connection here why do you guys care?"

Sam ignored his question yet again, continuing with his own queries as though there had been no interruption. "How well did you know Callen when he was young?" he asked, mostly out of genuine curiosity. Callen had said this man saved his life, after all.

Colby turned his attention back to Sam and gave him a sharp glare. "Look, I'm not answering any more of your questions until you answer mine. I'm here out of my own free will, I can kick you out of this car or arrest you for interfering with an ongoing investigation if you don't watch it," he snapped, "And don't think I won't do it, it takes a lot more than a couple of Special Agents to intimidate me."

Sam cocked an eyebrow in mild surprise. That there could very well be the reason Callen and Colby had got along; they were both rather fiery tempered. With a sigh he glanced back at Kensi who nodded once to show her agreement. "G Callen is my partner," he said truthfully, turning back to Colby and looking him in the eye, "We're interested in the case because that's our friend you guys have arrested and we want to know what the hell is going on."

It was now Colby's turn to look surprised; he stared at Sam for a moment then cleared his throat. "Callen's NCIS?" he asked.

Sam nodded. "Been my partner for three and a half years."

Colby smiled slightly and shook his head. "Well I guess he never did do what people expect of him," he smiled.

"So you knew him pretty well then?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," the detective replied, "We were good friends back in the day." He paused for a moment then sighed. "Look, why come to me of all people? If you guys want answers why not go talk to the detective in charge, or talk to the chief?"

Sam exchanged another look with Kensi before allowing her to answer.

"G Callen doesn't exist," she explained, "He hasn't existed in years. He's an undercover specialist with us, if we march in there and announce him as NCIS countless deep-cover operations will be compromised along with every one he does in the future."

"Exactly," said Sam, picking up where Kensi left off, "Instead we managed to get one of our coworkers in pretending to be Callen's lawyer so we could talk to him. He says he doesn't have a clue what's going on either but he gave us your name and said you might be able to help us out. He says he trusts you and if you've managed to win Callen's trust that's good enough for us."

Colby looked from one to the other and back again, seemingly taking in everything that had just been said. Finally he sighed and ran a hand through his silver hair. "I promised him that I'd always look out for him," he said, "And I meant it. What do you guys need?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_He was soaked to the bone, wet clothes sticking to him like an extra layer of skin as sheets of water pelted him from above. The endless puddle which doubled as his bed had grown deeper since he'd last opened his eyes, reaching almost to his nose now and turning all his extremities blue with cold. Above him the sky was split by a sudden fork of lighting and the ground trembled slightly with the thunder that followed. Still he didn't stir, not a bit, as he waited for that which had woken him, another's approach. Sure enough within moments there came the sloshing of footsteps through water and his hand, curled beneath his chest in the frigid puddle, tightened against the cool metal hidden there. _

_It was cold in his hands as larger ones forced it there, curling his fingers around it painfully. There was blood before him, soaking the wooden floor, turning it dark, and a figure as wet and dark as the floor. And the larger hands tightened, squeezed down on his and his finger found curved metal and pulled. The shock made his hands fly back into his face, pain seared through every inch of his body but the larger hands grabbed him once more, held him by the neck, by the hair and squeezed once more. And again the shock made him buckle and he fell to the floor, into the blood, the puddle of it which slowly covered him as the figure seemed to melt away before him. _

_But the puddle was water and cold now, like ice, and the sloshing had stopped all too near. And then there came a hand on his shoulder, a large one, squeezing it, and a voice._

"_Callen?"_

_Ha moved then, rolled as quickly as his frozen body would allow, the gun pointed at the speaker's head then he paused. "Colby? Fuck man, don't do that!" And he dropped the gun into the water beside him and shook his waterlogged hair like a dog. It was only then that the shivers began, first in his arms then his legs then back, neck and head. _

_Colby was speaking but he didn't hear. They hit a bump and he hunched forward retching and coughing and chocking as blood filed his mouth and trickled down his throat and into his lungs. And he couldn't see, his eyes were rolling and turning everything before them red, like blood, like his blood, everywhere. He retched again and copper bit at his tongue and there came a lurch and he felt himself sliding, falling, head down wedged within some small space. And he whimpered in pain as he was pulled from the position, carried gently and laid on the ground. Still the retching came, and the coughing, more violently than before and hands held him down, pressed him to the pavement as he felt his body convulse and shake. And someone was speaking, far away, far above, and as the darkness took hold the words reached him._

"_Dammit Callen, sometimes I hate this job..."_

_And another bump brought him back and he opened his eyes. His was warm now from the heat in the car but still thoroughly drenched from his puddle of a bed. Out of the car they climbed, he and Colby, and headed together into a Laundromat. Huddled in a straight backed chair he watched as Colby set about dying his sodden clothes then took the seat next to him. There was silence for a moment but as always it didn't last long._

"_So here's your choice. You can either explain to me why you were sleeping in an alley during the biggest storm LA's seen these last couple years or you can explain to me why you're carrying a gun."_

_The choice was not hard._

"_Better I shoot them before they shoot me."_

"_Better still if no one gets shot at all."_

_Silence again._

"_No one does what's best."_

Callen sat up abruptly, causing the thin spring mattress beneath him to creak and groan angrily, and blinked a few times as he allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim morning light. As the plain holding cell around him came into focus around him, he sighed and lay back down, running a hand over his day-old stubble and through his hair. He should have known better than to try to sleep, should have known that memories would be waiting for him the moment he closed his eyes and that instead of rest he would find only more dark forgotten corners of his mind. Glancing at his watch, which the cops had kindly allowed him to keep, he calculated that he'd managed just over two hours of sleep, if you could call it that. Really it had been more like two hours of unwanted memories he now had to force back into their corners before they could be seen by anyone else.

Swinging his legs off the bed he rested his arms on his knees and hung his head, thinking. He wasn't sure now that the decision to give his team Colby's name had been a good one. He knew they had already found him, there was no way it would have taken Eric more than a few hours at most, and he wondered what his old friend had given them if he'd given them anything at all. It had been twenty years since they'd last spoken, and he was beginning to wonder what had made him think that Colby would still be willing to stick his neck out for him. After all he had just up and disappeared one day, without ever telling Colby where he was going or that he was okay. It had been for the job, sure, the first big sacrifice, but it had been cold of him all the same, after everything Colby had done for him over the years the least he could have done was find a way to tell him he wasn't dead.

And then there was the question of what Colby had given his team. For so long he'd blocked them out, deflected questions, lied when needed, to keep them from seeing what he really was. Nate would have a field day with the new information, it would be like a psychological smorgasbord for him and there was nothing he could do to stop it. And then there was Sam. Callen knew Sam took things personally and he knew his partner would probably be hurt by the amount of things Callen had kept from him, by the lies he'd been forced to tell him but he hadn't had much of a choice. Your demons are your weakness, in his case weaknesses, and he could have those out for the world to see, not in his line of work.

Ex line of work. There was no way they were letting him back into NCIS after everything got out, no way. He'd be left with nothing, again, uprooted and forced to move on to what he didn't know. Maybe some kind of private investigator, he could do that, or perhaps he could kind a position working with one of those private security firms... In those kinds of jobs they didn't care if you had an arrest record longer than most of the suspects you went after, they didn't care what you'd seen or been forced to do to stay alive.

"I didn't kill him..."

For a few moments he didn't realize that he'd spoken out loud but the moment he did, he shook himself mentally. He couldn't go on thinking like this, he was going to drive himself insane and he couldn't do that, not now, not again. With a deep sigh he lifted his head and stared with renewed determination at the wall across from him. His team, his friends, would help him. They wouldn't leave him to fight this charge alone, he knew they wouldn't. They were good people, all of them, and good friends who had never once left his side, not when cases had gone bad not when he'd been shot and they were told he wouldn't survive, not once. It didn't matter what Colby had given them, they already knew him, despite his best efforts to prevent that he knew they did, and he knew them also and he trusted them. 

* * *

"This can't be Callen."

Kensi's voice left no room for argument yet Sam knew, as they all did, that the files littering the table in the center of the Ops center were as genuine as you could get. Colby had come through with everything they needed, or at least everything the LAPD had on Callen. Arrest reports covered the table's surface, details and files on his multitude of foster homes were packed into a box in the center, and the full case file and autopsy report for Isaac Harwood's murder lay in a pamphlet nearby. Eric was in the process of downloading the security video from which the photographs Sam was currently holding had come as well as other videos concerning Callen.

"This just can't be him, it just can't be!" Kensi picked up the arrest report and tossed it across the table as though the action would prove her point, "This is wrong, it has to be!"

Sam hoped she was right, wished she was right, but for once his optimistic personality could not allow him to believe it. They all knew Callen had lived a rough life and he at least had always suspected he had been trouble as a youth but never once had he expected him to be as troubled as the files before him would indicate. True he had never asked his partner straight up to tell him anything about his past but he had thought they'd reached a point in their friendship where Callen trusted him enough to at least be honest with him.

"Look I know we don't want to believe this but it makes sense," said Nate, clearly pleading with Kensi to understand, "I mean, if we look at his behaviour... Kensi he's always been troubled, we know that..."

"Whose side are you on Nate?" Kensi asked loudly, "You're making it sound like you think he's guilty, again!"

Sam sighed, he didn't want to listen to his team argue, instead he dropped the photographs back on the table and walked over to Eric who was still typing away on his computer. He didn't really want to see what was on the video, he didn't want to see the iron clad evidence that Callen did in fact have something to do with Isaac Harwood's death but he had to, he couldn't believe it otherwise.

"I'm just about finished downloading the video," said Eric, pulling Sam from his thoughts, "LAPD took it off a VHS so the quality's going to suck but it's all we got."

"Just as long as we can see what they see," Sam sighed.

Eric nodded and resumed his typing. For a few moments Sam focused on that and only that if only to ignore the arguing still going on behind him. Eric seemed to be doing much the same thing and stared in silence at the screen as he worked. After another minute Sam noticed a new sound behind him, the gentle tapping of footsteps approaching.

"What didn't we know?" Hetty asked in a softly, stopping before Sam and gazing up at him.

"A lot," Sam replied sadly, behind him the bickering stopped as Kensi and Nate both turned to listen, "He was arrested nineteen times from the time he was ten until he joined the Army at twenty-one. He was booked for pretty much anything and everything, went to juvie five times and prison once. According to his records from Social Services, he would regularly go missing between foster homes, only turning up again when he was arrested. Those records also show he was expelled from several schools including a private school he was sent to for a month by a foster parent."

Hetty sighed and nodded slowly. "What about the Isaac Harwood case?" she asked.

"According to the files Colby got us his body was discovered about a month ago and LAPD began canvassing the area as soon as they got an approximate for when he died which, according to the coroner would have been between twenty and twenty-five years ago."

"And how did they manage to find a suspect based on that information?" Hetty asked.

"By the looks of things, dumb luck," Kensi replied before Sam had a chance, "The file explains how they already had the video in evidence. Back in 1983 a local business owner sent them the tape because he was shocked by what he saw on it, they kept it around and put two and two together when the body was found."

Hetty looked thoughtful for a moment. "Have we seen the video yet?" she asked.

"We can see it now," Eric announced, looking up from his computer at last, "I just finished downloading it."

"Put it on-screen," Sam ordered.

Eric obeyed and the image of a deserted ally flashed to life on the screen before them. For a few minutes it remained that way, empty growing dark as it was clearly evening. After a moment, however, the grainy image of two young boys came into sight, stumbling down the ally. Both were covered in blood, from head to toe, and it became clear very quickly that Isaac was no longer alive. His eyes were wide open, yet unseeing and he bounced and flailed like a rag doll on Callen's shoulder. Callen himself didn't look much better; he was clearly struggling to stay on his feet, his face twisted in pain. And then, without warning he collapsed in a crumpled heap of flesh and bone and blood.

There was a pause in which nothing moved before Callen finally seemed to gain the strength necessary to pull himself out from under Isaac's dead weight. Sitting next to the body, his head bobbing up and down with every clearly laboured breath Callen reached a shaking hand out and slid the younger boy's eyes closed. But he didn't remove his hand from Isaac's face, instead he began to shake violently and for a full five minutes he just sat there, gripping the other boy's hair desperately and trembling out of control. There must have been some kind of noise right about then for suddenly he looked up and, like a frightened animal, went ridged for a moment before pulling Isaac back over his shoulder and stumbling out of sight down the ally.

There was dead silence in the Ops center as the video concluded. Eric's eyebrows had disappeared into his hair, Kensi had her mouth hanging slightly open, Nate just looked shocked and Hetty had bowed her head as the clip finished.

Sam didn't know what he felt, or what he was supposed to feel. With no idea what else to do he allowed professionalism to take over and turned to Nate. "You need to go talk to Callen again," he said firmly, "We need more answers."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Los Angeles was a beautiful city. The shoreline in particular shone beauty from every corner, from the way the waves rolled up on to the sand, to the flowers and other assorted plant life which bordered its beaches. It was a beauty that was rarely seen in his line of work, more often than not it was drowned out by the death and blood and broken lives he dealt with every day. For the moment Callen was focusing on what he so often missed, the visual paradise that was his native city. Sitting on a deserted patch of beach near the water's edge he watched the sun dip below the horizon, sending red and gold reflection dancing across the waves, and felt the cool evening air nip at his face. They would never look for him here; people didn't hide where it was beautiful, people sought out the darkest most disgusting corner and hid there instead. Like animals they trapped themselves and then had to fight their way out.

He'd never been a fan of corners, dark or otherwise. He was a runner, he always had been, preferring to escape his problems before they could consume him completely. For as long as he could remember when things went bad he had run, left everything behind and tried to start over. Foster homes, schools, even people, he'd run from it all never stopping to look back or think about what might have been. It was easy for him to pick up and leave, never having any kind of home base meant stability was not something he missed. The closest he'd ever come to a home was NCIS but that was done now. If he'd had any chance of getting his life back it was gone now, never to return.

He should have known he was in trouble the moment the memories hit him while he was awake. That never happened, ever. He'd become to very good, over the years, at pushing them away during the day so that as long as his eyes were open, and he was healthy enough, he was safe from them. But they'd come today, despite his best efforts to prevent them. The dream had shaken him and while he had regained his composure long before the officers arrived at his holding cell to bring him up for further questioning, the memories it triggered had stayed, chewing at the back of his mind like some starving rodent. Still, this was not completely unusual, memories were often back there, just barely held in check while he continued on his day but never at the front of his mind.

He supposed it was when Nate had arrived that they had moved to the forefront once more. He'd been taken from his holding cell some two hours after being awoken by the dream and returned to the same interrogation room as the day before. There he'd waited under Bronstrum's watchful eye, listening to his snide comments and making a few of his own, until the psychologist had arrived looking tense but far more self assured than on his first visit. And then the interrogation started again with Bronstrum once more pulling out his juvenile record and tossing it around. "You were a violent child, Callen." "You were into drugs, Callen." "Maybe this boy had something you wanted, Callen." And on and on. Callen had to give credit where it was due, Bronstrum was very good. He knew how to turn his suspects answers around, knew how to trick them in their own web of lies and he knew which lies to tell himself in order to work out the truth. But Callen was good too, better than Bronstrum as it turned out because the detective got nothing out of him in their time together.

But where Bronstrum was good, Nate was excellent. When at last lawyer and client were given a moment alone he picked up the interrogation right where the detective left off. It had been clear all along that Nate knew more now about the case this time around than he had when he'd last come in. The stress in his face did not leave it when they were left alone, in fact he looked more tense then than at any point before in the interrogation.

"_So what did Colby give you?" he remembered asking as a sort of icebreaker._

_Nate had studied him closely here, scrutinized him and made no effort to hide it. Callen had done the same, watching the subtle things such as the fact that the psychologist was refusing to meet his eyes. _

"_He got us copies of everything the cops have," Nate had answered finally, still not meeting his eyes. When he eventually did look up it had been to fix him with a gaze that did nothing to cover the conflicting emotions clearly swirling beneath the surface. "Callen it doesn't look good. Everything Bronstrum just said in there, that you were violent, that you could have wanted something Isaac had, it's all plausible. No, don't start, hear me out – " He had held up a hand, effectively silencing the agent before he could argue. "They have your records showing a troubled boy who was arrested multiple times on violent charges and who spent considerable amounts of time in juvie or prison, they have a video showing you and Isaac in the alley where he was found and they have the autopsy report showing that none of the shots were kill shots, presumably because the person shooting didn't know what they were doing, like a child. You look good for this, Callen."_

Digging his hands into the sand on either side of him, Callen lay back and stared up at the darkening sky above. To say he hadn't been stung by Nate's words would be a lie, but he really hadn't been that surprised. Nate had what one would call a logical mind, he saw things in the black and white, good and bad view of someone who had never seen those lines blurred by the horrific things humans could do to each other. Yet the simple statement that he was in trouble, uttered by a friend, had caused his pulse to quicken and memories of his time in prison trickled back to him causing tiny cracks in his carefully constructed walls. Still, he'd been alright even with those memories present for they were not that bad in comparison to others buried deeper in his mind.

He remembered Nate continuing on but the conversation was so trivial that he could not recall the specifics now that he tried. He did, however, remember the feelings. He had known from the moment Nate entered the interrogation room that his opinion of him had changed, the arrests, the criminal record had seen to that. At first their conversation had been friendly, tense but amicable, however as Nate pushed on this had changed.

"_Callen, look, I have to ask. Is it possible that you don't remember what happened that day?" Nate's voice had been nervous here and once again he refused to meet his eyes as he spoke, looking instead at the cuffs of his dress shirt. "I mean, is it possible you got confused? Maybe you didn't know what you were doing..."_

_He'd stared at him, probably for a full minute as the psychologist flinched under his gaze before finally speaking, his voice surprisingly calm. "What are you asking me, Nate? Was I crazy? No. Was I on drugs? No. I didn't kill him, I already told you that."_

_Nate had taken a deep breath here, looked up at him and Callen had known in that moment that his friend did not believe him. "Callen, there are one or two drug charges before this took place and lots after. If you were high that would have impaired your judgement, you could make a deal..."_

"_You honestly think I did this, don't you?" _

This time it had shaken him. How were you supposed to react when one of your co-workers, your friends, a man who knows you better than almost anyone else on the planet, who has debriefed you after every op, tells you he thinks you're guilty? He had been rendered speechless. If the situation hadn't been so serious he would have laughed, the one thing Sam always strived for Nate had achieved without effort, wouldn't that just be a slap in the face to his partner.

Sam. Thinking about him made Callen's stomach tighten painfully. What was he thinking now? Was he ripping Nate a new one for not believing in him or – and it hurt him to even consider it – did he too believe he was a killer? Sam had to know he'd never kill a child, had to know he'd never kill anyone who didn't need killing. It wasn't like he enjoyed it, watching people fall to their death by his hand, in fact it still made him slightly sick to his stomach each time. It was something you just never got used to; if you did there was something wrong. But there was nothing wrong with him, not in that sense anyway, he still avoided killing if at all possible.

Callen sat up, shaking his head and running a hand through his short cut hair. He couldn't start thinking like that, couldn't go down that road again, he'd already done that once today and look where it had landed him. He knew he'd made a bad decision, knew that if he hadn't looked completely guilty before he sure as hell did now. He had known that Nate was the team's only way inside the LAPD, knew that without his cover as his lawyer there was very little they could do for him but he'd been angry, he'd been hurt and he'd acted as memories triggered by Nate's assumption of guilt were still consuming him. His decision had been unwise, stupid even and he knew that but with everything swirling around his head he hadn't been able to help it. Besides, he was screwed either way.

_The door had opened, interrupting the staring match which had taken root between he and Nate and allowing Bronstrum to enter._

"_Time's up, Muller," the detective had snapped at Nate, all the while glaring at Callen._

_He'd glared right back. His breathing was shallow, his heart rate up and pounding in his ears and he'd known, even before he'd opened his mouth, even before Nate had flashed him that pitying look, that he was about to make a mistake. "Muller!" he'd called as Nate reached the door, fighting to keep his voice even, "You're fired. I don't ever want to see you back here again." _

The look of shock on Nate's face had said it all. But really, what had he expected, he'd just told him that he thought him guilty. Callen sighed and stood up, the sound of sirens blaring faintly somewhere inland sent shivers up his spine and he moved instinctively out of the open, taking a seat once more in the shadows of some large trees further up the beach. They were looking for him, he was sure of that and he wondered if they had his picture out to all the news stations and papers yet. If wasn't by now it would surely be up by tomorrow, there was no doubting that. He almost laughed, suddenly, and leaned his back against the tree behind him. How insane was he right now? He was finding this funny, finding it funny that the police were searching for him and his friends thought he was guilty and mostly that they would never find him.

And then, as quickly as it had come, the humour was gone leaving in its wake an emptiness which sent chills through his body that had nothing to do with the evening air. Perhaps it seemed funny because it was true. What qualified as murder? Isaac was so young, so innocent, he should have protected him, he should have saved him. The feeling of cold metal tingled at his hands and fingers and he curled both hands into tight fists proving to himself that there was nothing there. But there had been when Isaac died and he gritted his teeth. He hadn't killed Isaac, he hadn't done it. Maybe it had been his fault, in fact he was sure it had been his fault but it hadn't been him who pulled the trigger, hadn't been him who'd ended the boy's life. He was not a murderer, he wasn't…

But they thought he was. Bronstrum, Nate, maybe even the rest of the team, they all thought he was. He sighed, leaned his head back and gazed into the sky. Before him two seagulls danced and played in the wind, dipping and diving then rising to do it all over again. He wished, not for the first time, that he could have freedom like that. Those birds were never tied down by their pasts, by anything. The whole sky was theirs to explore. He sighed again and ran a hand over his still unshaven face. It had been the video which had done him in, triggered memories he couldn't get under control and the over whelming urge to run, no matter what the cost. With Nate gone he'd been returned to the interrogation room by Bronstrum, the detective grinning as though every one of his dreams had come true at once. Callen had known the veteran officer could tell he was staring to slip, that Nate had said something which had triggered a reaction which could be used to his advantage. He was no fool, Bronstrum.

Sitting Callen down at the same table as every time before the detective wheeled in a television and turned it on without a word. Callen almost wished he'd spoken, said something, anything, for he could have used that to anchor himself but Bronstrum did not oblige. Instead he remained silent as the images of Isaac's final few moments played out on the screen before them. It was not even half way through the video when the feelings hit him. The overwhelming urge to leave, to get away clawed at his insides, his breath quickened and his skin prickled with fear. It was a though he was suffocating, as though the walls were closing in around him and he simply had to get out. Yet despite the terror raging within him Callen managed to hold out, to force a look of calm and make it through the rest of the interrogation without snapping completely.

As soon as Bronstrum left, however, he remembered his chest tightening and the desire to get out had overwhelmed him in one fell swoop. He still had his bobby pin, the one he carried with him at all times and it took him left than five seconds to pick the locks of his handcuffs. Everything else passed in a blur, such was his desire to escape that he did not truly remember being aware of what he was doing until he found himself sitting on this beach three hours ago. It scared him that he could not remember the details of his escape not because something could have gone wrong, but more because of the simple fact that he had descended so far into instinctive actions that he'd lost all conscious thought for a time. The last time this had happened – he shuddered at the memory and pushed it away – things had not ended so well.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

He was being selfish, he knew that, confining himself to his study and dwelling in his own thoughts when there were others around who yearned for his company. Hetty had sent them all home, even Eric who was second only to Callen for time spent at headquarters, and Nate whose guilt over the unforeseen event and his role in it had caused him to attempt to pull an all-nighter. Sam had to admit that he thought the psychologist's guilt was well deserved though he would never say such a thing to the man's face. But really, what did Nate expect would happen if Callen found out he was no longer trusted? Nate's interrogation of him had been worse than those done by Detective Bronstrum for God's sake! He could see where Nate was coming from, which was the only reason he hadn't gone after the man as Kensi had when he'd returned from the station with the news that Callen had fired him and all communications they had with him were now gone, but he didn't agree. Callen was not a killer, he couldn't be.

Creaking footsteps from beyond his study door reminded him again of the fact that he was probably hurting others by remaining locked up like this but he couldn't bring himself to move. How could he face his family when he couldn't even sort out his own thoughts? When he'd arrived home his wife had caught his eye and flashed him a smile which he'd returned mechanically before proceeding to his study and closing the door. There he'd remained from that point on, staring blindly at his desk and trying to sort out the day's events. He still could not believe that Callen had escaped, that he had fled from police custody injuring two officers in the process. Ha had watched it happen, that all had, live over the feed coming from the interrogation room security camera. What had him worried was the fact that, while Callen had not killed the officers who moved in to intercept him as he escaped from the interrogation room, the force he had used to disarm and subdue them had been excessive. But even more worrisome than that had been the look on his partner's face throughout the whole event for it had been one of pure terror and utter confusion. Sam could not even begin to imagine what it must have taken to get Callen to show emotion so clearly and he was glad that Nate had not been in the room to evaluate his mental state.

As for his own evaluation of G's mental wellbeing, it wasn't good. Callen knew better than to run from the police, he knew it would only make him look guilty yet he had done it anyway and Sam had to wonder what was going on inside his head. Then again there was always the possibility that he was in fact guilty, that he had murdered Isaac in cold blood… Sam shook himself. Callen was not guilty; he would not allow himself to start thinking that way. It was bad enough that Nate believed it was possible; he would not give up on his partner as well.

A gentle knock on his study door pulled him from his thoughts and he forced from his face all traces of the battle wagging within him. "Come in," he sighed, leaning back in his chair.

The door edged open and his daughter poked her head in, her long, dark braids bouncing over each shoulder. "Mum called dinner five minutes ago," she informed him with a smile. "You probably don't want to be late again, you remember what happened last time…"

Sam blinked. He must have been very lost in thought indeed to have missed his wife's dinner call. "I didn't hear her," he replied truthfully. Sighing he stood up and made his way over to his daughter, placed one arm around her shoulders and steered her out of the study. "We'd better get a move on though,' he said, his happy-father persona back in place as it always was when he was home, "Before you mother decides to kill me with that spatula of hers…" 

* * *

Dinner passed in a lull of conversation. Both Hanna children had stories from school to tell and Sam listened with real interest for it was a means of escape for him from the thoughts which kept swirling around his head. If his family could tell there was something going on they kept it to themselves. No one questioned him when he frowned at his son's story about a friend who was sure he was going to be arrested because a cop saw him J-walking and he was never pushed to join in the conversations. Come to think of it Sam was fairly sure his family knew there was something going on but they had all lived with his job long enough to have learned not to ask. One thing he did notice however was that his wife packaged up the extra serving of dinner, which she made every night just in case Callen ended up needing a place to crash, and slipped it in to the fridge without a word.

It was late now, going on 10:30 and both kids were already in bed, what with tomorrow being a school day and all. Sam was sitting in the living room, a glass of hot coffee in his hand and a sports program lighting up the screen before him. It was peaceful just sitting there, distracted from everything by the day's sports news and he actually found himself calming down slightly. If he was honest with himself he expected Callen to have showed up here by now but he hadn't and Sam could only hope he'd found someplace safe to spend the night. With a heavy sigh he took a sip of coffee and watched the day's top ten plays roll out before his eyes.

It was then that his wife entered the room, returning from the nightly rounds of making sure both children were actually asleep. She settled herself on the couch next to him and took up watching the sports without complaint. They sat like that, in comfortable silence, until the show broke for commercials. It was only then that she turned to face him, her ever present smile tugging at her lips. "So how was work?' she asked him.

Sam shrugged in a noncommittal sort of way. "No new cases," he replied honestly.

The way her eyebrows raised in response to his statement caught him slightly by surprise.

"Really?" she asked, "Callen's not undercover again, or anything?"

Sam stared at her. "Why would you think he's undercover?" he asked a little more sharply than he intoned.

His wife watched him closely. "I don't know," she said finally, "I thought I saw him on TV was all, but it wasn't his name. While you were in your study I was watching the news and a wanted poster came on for a man named Thomas Veser and the picture looked just like Callen. I just assumed it was another alias, something for work."

Sam bowed his head. At the very least they weren't using Callen's real name, they must think everyone would know him as Veser or something, but still his picture would be everywhere by tomorrow. He'd been clinging to the vague hope that Hetty would somehow stop the LAPD from using the media in their search but it would seem she was as powerless at the moment as the rest of them. A cool touch on his arm made him look up. His wife was looking at him sadly, her chocolate brown eyes meeting his as she pulled his arm onto her lap and began massaging his palm gently.

"Sam," she said softly, "What's going on?" 

* * *

It was pitch black around him, there hadn't been a streetlamp in blocks and all the rundown old buildings he pasted were silent and still. The only noise was that of the ocean beating softly against the shore in its calming rhythm, in, out, in, out… Callen adjusted the ragged old duffle bag he had slung over his shoulder and kept walking. Even in the dark and having not walked this route in years he still knew its every twist and turn by heart and with each step he felt some of his stress leave him. He loved this place. It had not been his first thought to come here, of course, his first thought had been Sam's but he couldn't go there, it was too obvious and there was no guarantee his friend thought him innocent anyway. But he would not think about that. This place had been a close second, so after gathering his wits about him on the beach it had been off to gather what little he would need to stay off the grid before coming here.

That trip had taken longer than expected. His photo and Thomas Veser's information had already been released to the media so he was forced into the shadows of the city. Still, like the ghost he was, he'd managed and now had everything he would need in the bag over his shoulder. A few changes of clothes, a couple thousand dollars he'd kept tucked away for emergencies, an ID made years ago by the FBI which never went into the system, a shaving kit and so on and so forth. If there was one benefit to his style of living it was that going invisible was easy.

Reaching a particularly rundown looking building Callen stopped and looked around, seeing as it was completely dark he couldn't see much of anything but it was force of habit. And then he was moving again, slipping into the building then moving silently through it and out into the yard behind. It looked to have, at one point, been a junk yard which had gone out of business some time ago. Old cars littered the yard towering above him in unstable piles and surrounded by an assortment of other junk; sinks, refrigerators, toilets, and heaps of unrecognizable metal and plastic. Surrounding the yard was a massive chain link fence with barbed wire running in thick coils along the top and Callen made his way over to it swiftly, felt his way along it and finally came to a place where the chain link had been cut so it could be folded back. Carefully he pulled the rusted metal out of the way and slipped through the fence, straightening up on the other side and folding the fence back into place.

About six feet from the fence the reason for it being there became clear. The ground fell away into a sharp cliff, and while not very tall the pointed rocks below would still impale anyone who happened to jump off there. Ignoring the danger Callen climbed swiftly down the cliff face remembering every grip and foothold from the years before. He did not have to go very far, about ten feet down the cliff there was a small ledge and from that ledge an opening in the rock could be seen, a small cave just high enough that even at high tide it never flooded. Clambering into the cave Callen dropped his bag on the rough rock floor, pulled a blanket out from inside and, using the bag as his pillow, he curled up beneath it. Ignoring the cold of the floor, he stared out at the dark restless sea with a sigh.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The bullpen was as silent as Sam could ever remember it being in all his time with NCIS. Nate sat at his desk across from him, Callen's Social Services file was open in front of him and he appeared to be reading deeply. Sam knew better, however. Despite how intensely he was staring at the paper before, him the psychologist's eyes had not moved since Sam had joined him almost twenty minutes ago. The early start was evident on his face, despite being clean shaven Nate's eyes were bloodshot and his hair scruffier than usual; it was clear he hadn't managed much sleep the night before. Sam was sure that he didn't look much better himself, having spent most of last night staring at the ceiling in much the same way as Nate was currently staring at the file.

They had all come in early this morning, he, Kensi, even Eric, but Nate had come in earliest of all. The tension between them, which had been building non-stop since Callen was arrested, had been just as thick as the day previous. Hetty must have noticed this for she called them all into her office and proceeded to tare them a new one about their lack of teamwork, their lack of co-operation, and so on. Sam had to admit she was right, the tension wasn't helping anyone, most importantly it wasn't helping Callen and he had made it his personal mission to at least try to let Nate back into the fold. So, since sitting down twenty minutes ago he'd been going over in his head what he could say to start a conversation with the man across from him, unfortunately he had never really been all that good with words.

He was saved from the self-induced pressure of finding the right words, however, when the psychologist dropped the file he was holding abruptly and ran both hands through his hair. "Look, Sam, I'm really sorry," he said softly, "I know that I should never doubt a team mate, a friend, I know it goes against everything in the SEAL code, in the NCIS code, come to that." He took a breath, staring at Sam as though desperate for him to understand. "And I didn't mean for him to find out. Hell, I didn't even want to doubt him! I don't want him to be guilty! I don't want him to be a murderer! But, I'm just a psychologist, I just read people and I think that..." He shook his head and changed tack at top speed. "I didn't realize he would react like that. I didn't realize all this would happen, I was just trying to get him to see..."

Sam was silent as he watched Nate chew his lip nervously and it took him a full minute to remember that he was expected to respond. "None of us knew he would react like that," he said finally, still watching Nate closely, "I didn't even see it coming. You know Callen, it's hard enough trying to figure out how he feels about something let alone how he's going to react to it."

And that was the truth of it; Callen was sometimes next to impossible to predict. But what did that mean, exactly? Did that fact simply give more credit to the idea that G had in fact killed Isaac Harwood as a child if the younger boy had done something to annoy Callen? Sam shook himself mentally and pulled himself back to reality, refusing to think about that any longer. Across from him Nate was muttering to himself, Sam caught the words 'psychologist' and 'should have known' and sighed deeply. "You couldn't have known, Nate," he said softly, "This isn't your fault."

Nate laughed coldly. "Of course it is!" he said in exasperation, "Stop trying to make me feel better by saying it isn't."

"Sam's right, Nate." Kensi had appeared in the open doorway without being noticed sometime during the two men's conversation and now stood looking from one to the other. She, like Nate and Sam, looked as though she hadn't got much sleep the night before. She was dressed simply, jeans, a T-shirt and a rather baggy sweater and her hair hung loosely around her shoulders. In one hand she held a brown paper bag from which she pulled three cups of hot coffee, placing one on each of their desks before passing out doughnuts. "I figured everyone could use a pick-me-up," she said with a slightly shrug, before settling at her own desk and taking a sip of her coffee. "Sam is right though, Nate," she said after a moment, "Nothing that happened is your fault, and I'm sorry for insinuating it was."

"Kensi, you had every right to do that, I – "

"Nate, stop it. I don't want to argue with you about this," said Kensi, swiftly cutting across the psychologist, "Can we just accept that we've both apologized and move on? Please?"

Nate was silent for a moment before nodding. "Works for me," he said softly.

Silence fell over them like a blanket, each person lost in their own thoughts until Nate cleared his throat.

"So what now?" he asked.

Sam sighed. What now indeed. What they needed was a lead, some kind of proof. One way or the other they had to figure this out, either by proving Callen guilty (Sam shuddered at the thought) or by finding out what really happened down that alley. Before he had a chance to voice these thoughts, however, Kensi spoke up.

"I think we need a better idea of what we're dealing with," she said, looking from Nate to Sam as she spoke, "I think we need to talk to someone who was there, who knew Callen when he was younger, who could give us an idea of what was going on in his life around that time..."

"Colby," said Sam.

"Exactly. If he was as close with Callen as we've been led to believe maybe he knows something that could help us." Kensi continued, "Maybe Callen told him something about what happened, and even if he didn't at least we'll have Colby's opinion on if Callen was capable of doing something like that back then."

Sam nodded. "I agree," he said. He popped the last of his doughnut into his mouth and stood up, taking his coffee with him.

* * *

"Tea, detective Colby?" Hetty offered as she poured herself a cup.

Sam sighed as he watched Colby accept the offer and Hetty pour a second cup for him. They were all gathered in the boat-house, Colby had agreed to answer more of their questions and the whole team had come to give their two cents. Hetty was serving tea, Nate and Kensi were sitting one of the couches while Colby had the other to himself and Sam was sitting that the table facing them. It was an odd feeling, Sam decided, just sitting there waiting for Colby to start talking. It felt almost like he was betraying Callen's trust. If G had wanted him to know about his past he would have told him and as it was his partner had always made it very clear that any conversation involving his life before NCIS was off limits unless he started it. All that said, they couldn't help him unless they knew what was going on; there was no arguing that fact.

"So," said Colby abruptly, breaking the silence which had fallen over them and looking around at each other them, "What is it you guys need, exactly?"

"Information," said Sam, pushing the feelings of betrayal aside and focusing on the task at hand, "About Callen back when you knew him, what he was like, things like that."

Colby took a moment to drink his tea slowly, frowning slightly as if debating his answer. "Cal was a good kid," he said finally, "Don't let the juvenile record fool you, he really was a good kid living in a rough, cold world. He was always smart, when I first met him he was just barely eleven but I'll admit he managed to manipulate me into getting him what he wanted." He smiled slightly at the memory. "But life wasn't easy for him," he continued, the smile fading from his lined face, "We used to joke about it, say he was cursed and so on but the truth was if shit was going to happen to someone, it was going to happen to Callen."

Sam shook his head, smiling sadly. "He hasn't changed much then."

"Can't say as I'm surprised," said Colby, "Most the shit tended to be self-inflicted, defending his friends, standing up for what he thought was right. Cal was a stubborn little thing, sometimes I think that stubbornness was both a blessing and a curse in his life. I think it saved him, I think without it he would have snapped long ago but I think it also brought on more suffering than any kid should have to take."

"Do you think it's possible Callen did what he's being accused of?" Nate asked from his spot on the sofa, "I mean personality wise?"

Colby sighed and ran a hand over his face, clearly considering his answer once more. "Do I think he was capable of killing someone when he was a child?" he said slowly, "Yes, I do. I think if he was backed into a corner or felt as though his life or the life of someone he cared about was in danger then yes, he was fully capable of ending someone's life. Now, do I think he committed the murder he's been arrested for? I'm not really sure. I don't know who the boy was or what his connection to Callen was but I will say that I find it incredibly hard to believe that Cal would ever end the life of another child."

"The boy's name was Isaac Harwood," said Sam quickly, before Nate could continue his line of questioning, "Callen told us that they lived together in a foster home."

Colby closed his eyes and bowed his head with a sigh. "Of course," he breathed softly.

"Do you know what happened?" Kensi asked, perking up next to Nate.

"No," said Colby sadly, "That's just it. Cal would never talk about it, but it must have been bad, whatever it was, because it was the beginning of a hell of a downward spiral in Callen's life. All I can tell you is that his self-worth dropped to zero after that."

"And he started getting arrested more often," said Nate, remembering the file.

Colby nodded. "Yeah," he sighed, "He had a rough couple of years after that..." He paused for a moment then looked around, meeting each other their eyes before speaking. "Look, with all that said he was still a bloody good kid, a good person and if he was living at a foster home with Isaac then I can promise you there's no way in hell he killed him. He protected the kids he lived with until the end of the earth, he'd throw himself in front of a bus for them."

Before any of the team could respond Hetty cleared her throat. "Thank you, Detective Colby," she said with a slight nod in his direction.

"Any time," Colby replied, "I just wish there was more you guys could do. Now that he's injured those two officers, well, let's just say Detective Bronstrum has got the whole department looking for him."

"How are the officers?" Hetty asked.

"They'll both be fine," said Colby looking slightly tense, "He didn't do anything that will damage them permanently."

"Good," said Sam, "He'd never forgive himself if he did."

"I suppose there is little to no chance of you being able to convince the department that Callen is not a threat?" Hetty prompted.

"No chance in hell," Colby replied sadly. "I can tell you though that if they catch him I just hope he doesn't try to run or fight his way out because Bronstrum for one will shoot him on site."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

When Eric had called him five minutes ago the excitement in his voice had been so great that it was almost palpable over the phone. He had found them a lead, a real, solid lead and it was for that reason that Sam was now running every amber light he came across in an attempt to get back to headquarters as fast as possible. Though Eric was a naturally excited person and usually bouncing off the walls about something or other, when he got this excited it always meant he'd found something big. Kensi, Nate and Hetty were on their way back to headquarters as well, and just as quickly. Sam could see Kensi swerving in and out of traffic behind him as she hurried to keep up. They were all going to have speeding tickets, he knew, he just hoped Hetty would call it case work and reimburse them later.

He could only hope that the lead Eric had found them was as good as the computer tech's excitement was leading him to believe. The conversation with Colby, while it had turned up insight on Callen as a child, had provided little in terms of information which was useful to the case. They were still hovering somewhere between no and where when it came to their progression on the case and his frustration was beginning to grow once more. How could they be so completely useless? How could they have allowed him to disappear like that, without a hint in the world as to his whereabouts? They hadn't even tried to talk to the LAPD, Sam knew why of course but still something had to be done.

It killed him to know he'd done nothing. Killed him to know that last night he'd sat up until his wife had all but dragged him to bed and even then he had done nothing more than stare at the ceiling. He should have gone looking for him; what if Callen had spent the night at their failsafe rendezvous place? What if he'd been waiting there for him? Sam tried to force the thought from his head but to no avail, the image of his partner sitting in the dark next to a deserted park, completely alone did not fade as he hoped it would. Shaking his head slightly he focused on the road ahead as a sort of distraction. They would find Callen, they would, and they would help him when they found him, he promised himself that. And if the team couldn't do it then he would do it himself, he would find another way.

The drive continued without incident, which was surprising considering how fast they were going, and when he finally pulled into the OSP parking lot he could not help the tingling of nerves which began to claw at his insides. The screeching of tries announced Kensi's arrival a few moments later as she pulled in next to Sam and hoped out of the car along with Hetty and Nate.

"He'd better have something good for us," she said tensely as she approached him, "If he's got us this worked up for nothing I'm going to kill him."

"Mr. Beal knows better than to raise false hope, Miss Blye," said Hetty as she too made her way towards him, "I suggest we stop speculating about what he may have found and go see for ourselves."

Kensi and Nate both nodded and Sam took that as his cue to lead them all inside.

* * *

Since the first rays of morning sunshine had reached him, pulling him from what was a feigned sleep and coercing him into clambering out of the cave, Callen hadn't moved an inch. Even as the sounds of the city waking behind him reached his ears and the sun grew progressively higher and brighter before him he remained seated, legs swung over the edge of the cliff as he watched the waves beat against the rock below. This place had to be one of the most beautiful in the city, yet it was hidden in the middle of one of the most rundown and dirty areas, almost as though it didn't want to be found. Callen couldn't say he blamed it, sometimes it was far better to simply be alone and forgotten than trapped in the centre of the city drama, surrounded by people and noise and crowds and the bustle of life in general. It was one of the things he loved about his job; it gave him the ability to disappear, to stop existing for a while and to do it for the good of those people who do not need to disappear to be happy in life.

Ex-job, he reminded himself sharply, it was his ex-job. It wasn't coming back, ever; he had to let it go. He ran a hand over his unshaven face and sighed heavily. It was amazing to think of just how much he'd lost over the past two days; he should have known better, he never should have opened that door… Hell he should never have fired Nate, he should never have run from the police, he should never have lied to his friends, he should never have started to believe that maybe he could be more than a throwaway… He gazed over the edge of the cliff with another heavy sigh. How many times before had he sat here, staring at the waves as they crashed into the solid rock? How many times had he wondered how long it would take for those same waves to break a human body beyond repair? Maybe that was the reason he loved this place, death was just a step away, or in this case a slight push.

He shook his head. He could start thinking like that; he'd made a promise to a friend years ago that he'd never start thinking that way again. Of course Colby probably didn't even remember the promise but he did, and that was what mattered. What he needed was a plan, a plan to find out what the hell was going on. It had occurred to him over his sleepless night just how strange all of this was. Firstly the LAPD had somehow managed to tie Thomas Veser and G Callen together, something that was supposed to be next to impossible – of course he could sort of see how they'd managed it but still, there had to be more to it than that – then there was the case itself, it was more than twenty years old and the LAPD had not even managed to identify the body that he knew of.

Yes there was something going on. Callen almost smiled despite the situation as Gibbs's rule forty floated into his head. _If it seems like someone's out to get you, they are._

* * *

The Ops centre was darker than the rest of headquarters; it always was but this time more than any time before that seemed oddly appropriate. Sam, Kensi, Hetty, and Nate filed in one by one all completely silent and each with their nerves tingling. Eric sat at his computer typing away quickly but he turned to face the team as they arrived, a genuine smile on his face and an excited glint in his eyes.

"What have you got, Eric?" Sam asked quickly.

"I finally manage to get a hold of Isaac Harwood's Social Services records," the computer tech replied. He hit a few keys and the records, complete with a photograph of Isaac flashed to life on the screen before them. "He was only ever registered in one home, and was listed as missing after that."

"Wait," Kensi cut across him, "He was reported missing? Then why hasn't the LAPD been able to ID the body yet?"

Eric shook his head. "He wasn't reported missing to the police, Kensi, it was just marked that he ran away from the foster home in his Social Services file. But here's where it gets interesting. Just like he said, Callen's file shows him living at the same home at the same time as Isaac but he wasn't the only other kid there." He grinned and entered another few keystrokes. "Turns out Isaac wasn't an only child," he explained as the file and photo of another boy came to life on the screen. "Meet Damon Harwood, Isaac's older brother. According to the file he was also living in that foster home with his brother and Callen and like Isaac both Callen and Damon were listed as runaways from that home."

Sam stared at the picture project in front of him. Damon looked a lot like his younger brother, the same dark hair and eyes, the same face structure and features. Sam sighed slightly. "We need to find him, Eric. Damon Harwood is either our best witness or our best suspect."

"Way ahead of you, Sam," said Eric brightly, "Damon Harwood bounced around the foster system for the next five years then fell off the grid for a couple years after graduating high school. Doesn't stay that way for long though, not even two years later I've got records of him getting into college."

"Have you got records on him now, Mr Beal?" Hetty asked, effectively silencing his rambling.

"Yes," said Eric replied, getting back on track quickly. "As of four years ago he's been working at an elementary school downtown teaching third grade. I've already sent the address to your GPS, Sam."

Sam nodded. "Good work, Eric," he said then turned to look and the two women standing behind him. "Kensi, lets go."

* * *

It had taken him forty-five minutes and seven payphones to actually find one where the phonebook had not been removed or destroyed beyond use in some way and even the one he had managed to find had suspicious looking burn marks on most of the pages. Still it was better than nothing and Callen was now searching the names listed there for a man he had tried his hardest to forget for the last twenty years. Damon Harwood was proving harder to find than he'd hoped, however, and he was beginning to wonder if perhaps the other man had moved away from Los Angeles. Turning the singed page his finger finally fell upon a 'Hardwood, D' and he smiled. Pulling a pen and scrap of paper from his duffle-bag he scribbled the address down then closed the phonebook with a snap.

Callen found his way to Damon's neighbourhood without too much difficulty. As it was going on 12:00 most people were already at work and those who weren't paid him no mind and he walked among the middleclass patch of suburbia which played host to his old foster brother. The houses, while clean and well kept, showed no signs of obvious wealth and not one seemed to truly stand out from the rest. When he finally located Damon's address he felt a slight pang of nerves and paused at the front step. The last time they had spoken it had been Damon who did all the talking and really he'd been yelling, screaming at him. Maybe this hadn't been a good idea after all, in fact he was now sure he'd been wrong in his decision. Damon, he knew, thought him guilty. Damon had been there, he'd seen everything, heard everything...

He shuddered and took a breath. He had to know. He had to know if it had been Damon who'd brought this case to the attention of the LAPD, had to know if anyone had been asking around. Besides that, if he was going to take punishment for this from anyone he'd rather it be from someone who had every right to exact revenge. Taking a deep breath he raised his hand and knocked sharply on the wooden door.

"Excuse me!" A woman's voice floated to him from the left and he turned to see an elderly lady gazing down at him from her porch, a smile on her face. "Who are you looking for?"

Callen school his features into a smile instinctively and shielded his face from view with his hand under the pretence of protecting his eyes from the sun as he looked up at her. "Damon Harwood. Does he live here?" he called back.

"Oh yes," the woman replied, "But he's not in right now, he's at work you see."

Callen nodded slightly. "I see, well do you know where he works?" he asked.

"He's a third grade teacher at Perkin's Elementary School," she smiled down at him, "Are you a friend of Damon's?"

"Yeah," Callen lied easily, "I just got back into town after a couple years working abroad and I was hoping to surprise him. I didn't know he was teaching now."

The elderly woman nodded fondly. "He's wonderful with children; it's a perfect job for him."

"Well, thank you," said Callen before she could get into her rant, "I'll stop by the school and see if I can't surprise him there."

* * *

Perkin's Elementary School was one of the larger primary schools in Los Angeles and, Sam decided as they pulled up, one of the nicer ones. Parking the Challenger in an available spot he and Kensi made their way up to the school and let themselves in through the front doors. They were greeted by the sight of the office, Plexiglas windows blocking it off from the rest of the hall with secretaries scurrying around inside it like rather large, caged mice. Exchanging a look the two agents approached the opening in the glass and nodded in greeting to the woman on the other side.

"Good afternoon," said Sam politely, "We were hoping to talk to Mr. Damon Harwood, is he in today?" He half expected the woman to ask to see ID but she surprised him.

"His room is number 117," she said pointing off down the hall, "Just down there and to the right. Lunch will be starting in about five minutes so you should be able to catch him before he heads to the staff room."

Sam blinked at the simplicity of the information. "Okay," he said, recovering quickly, "Thank you very much." He turned to Kensi who raised her eyebrows and led the way down the hall.

It didn't take them long to find room 117. Just as the woman at the office had said the bell rang above their heads just as they arrived at the room signalling the start of the lunch period. Together they waited in silence by the door for the last of the children to hurry out before entering the room, with Sam closing the door behind them and Kensi approaching the man sitting at the teacher's desk.

"Damon Harwood?" she asked and the man nodded. "I'm Special Agent Kensi Blye, this is Special Agent Sam Hanna, we're with NCIS. We were wondering if we might be able to ask you a couple questions."

"Sure," said Damon slowly, taking in the badges both Sam and Kensi were holding out for him to see, "Of course." He glanced around and smiled apologetically. "I would ask you to have a seat but I'm afraid all I have is third grader chairs and I'm not sure you want to use them."

"We're fine standing," said Sam, "This shouldn't take all that long anyway."

Damon nodded and leaned back in his chair, gazing up at them. "So what can I do for you?" he asked.

Sam exchanged another look with Kensi and sighed. "We just have a few questions about your brother, Isaac."

Damon's eyes darkened immediately and his features took on the pinched look of someone inexperienced schooling emotions off their face. "What about him?" he asked dismissively.

"What happened to him?" Sam asked.

"He ran away from a foster home when he was twelve," said Damon shortly, looking suddenly tense.

"Mr. Harwood," said Kensi more gently, "Your brother's body was found down an alley about a month ago. He'd been murdered right about the time he ran away..."

Sam could see the momentary indecision in Damon's eyes, that moment where his brows creased for a second and the muscles in his mouth tightened slightly. "Look, we're just trying to help you, we just want justice for your brother's sake," he said, hoping for a reaction.

Damon laughed coldly. "Isaac died more than twenty years ago," he said in an equally cold tone, "No one cared then, why should you care now? Besides, I don't know what happened, I wasn't there, I didn't see anything. Now, if you two don't mind this is my lunch break and I would like to eat before the children get back in..."

Sam nodded. "Of course..."

* * *

It was going to be risky enough walking into a public place when his face was on every local new station and Callen knew doing it while looking particularly scruffy would only draw more attention to himself. That was the reason he'd taken the time before heading on to the school to change, shave and wash up as best he could in a public washroom. And even with that precaution he still kept to the shadows, slipped into Perkin's Elementary School through one of the back doors and began reading the name plates on each classroom door as he walked past. Before he could locate Damon's class however, something out one of the windows caught his eye; a black Challenger parked innocently in the parking lot outside.

Callen felt his heart skip a beat. They were here, right now, with him. Taking a breath he forced himself to think rationally. The team was on to Damon, that was the only reason for them to be here unless, of course, they had another case and had given up on him completely. He shook his head. He couldn't think like that, not now, he needed his head on straight, this was risky enough without him loosing it. Steeling himself he continued on down the hall now looking for Sam or Kensi or even Nate for he knew they would have to finish talking to Damon before he could even think about it. There was no way he was letting them walk in on this conversation, of course if it went the way their last conversation had most the school would be able to hear it by the end.

He finally spotted Sam and Kensi as he rounded a bend in the hallway. Slipping back into the shadows he watched warily as they waited for the children to file past them before entering the classroom before which they stood. As they disappeared from sight Callen let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and looked around. He would need to wait here, someplace out of sight yet where he could keep an eye on the door so as to know when they came out. His eyes fell on a wooden bench just down the hall from him and he moved towards it quickly, picked it up as quietly as he could manage and carried it back to the bend in the hallway. There he set it down and took a seat, peering cautiously around the corner every so often and listening intently for the sound of the classroom door opening.

After several minutes the creaking of hinges reached his ears and he risked casting a quickly glance around the corner. Sam and Kensi had emerged at last and were talking in soft voices as Sam swung the door shut again. Callen pulled his head back swiftly as Kensi looked around and leaned it against the wall behind him. Gritting his teeth he tried to control the tremors which had suddenly taken over his hands and the way his chest had tightened uncomfortably the moment he saw them but it was no use. Closing his eyes with his head still pressed firmly against the wall he found himself hoping with all his being that they would somehow notice him, come and find him, save him from this nightmare, but no one came. Forcing his eyes open again he peered around the corner once more and watched them leave, clinging desperately to the wooden bench beneath him until they disappeared from sight.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Callen remained seated for at least five minutes after his team mates' departure, his fingers still digging into the wood of the bench beneath him. Every instinct in his body was telling him to run; run after Sam and Kensi, run far away from here, run to where the memories couldn't reach him and swallow him whole, run, run, run... But he stayed put, eyes staring fixedly at the floor in front of him while he waited for his breathing to return to normal and for the blood to stop pounding in his ears. He hated feeling like this, hated the lack of control, the weakness, the fear, but mostly he hated what these feelings could make him do if left unchecked. But he would not let that happened, he'd already promised himself as much; he would never find himself in that place again, not ever.

Taking a deep breath he moved at last, checking around the corner one last time before rising to his feet and proceeding to the door of Damon's classroom. There he stopped again, uncertainty clawing at his inside like some sort of animal digging to get out. This was a mistake, he knew it, but he needed to know. He needed to know why this was happening, who was doing it and what they were getting out of watching him being slowly destroyed. With a sigh he steeled his nerves and opened the door, stepping inside before he had the chance to think about it any further. He was greeted by a less than pleasant reaction.

"Look, I already told you guys, I don't..." but Damon stopped talking when his eyes fell on Callen. He looked embarrassed at first then his eyes widened slightly as surprise overtook his face followed quickly by a look of dawning comprehension. "Hello, Callen," he said softly.

Callen couldn't bring himself to meet Damon's gaze so he focused instead on closing the door behind him, effectively cutting off his nearest escape route. The wave of guilt which had hit him upon seeing his old foster brother was more intense than he could have ever imagined it would be. Damon looked so much like Isaac, something Callen had forgotten, and seeing him sitting there, gazing up at him was like being watched some sort of aged ghost.

"So I think I get it now," Damon's voice casual and calm which only served to put Callen even more on edge, "I'm going to assume that guy, Thomas Veser, who's been all over the news is you?"

G nodded stiffly. "Yeah," he muttered, "It's a long story..."

"Aren't they always," Damon sighed. He looked Callen over critically. "Sit," he said finally, indicating the desks before him, "Something tells me this conversation might take awhile."

Callen nodded and moved forward as though in a daze. He shouldn't be here; it was too public a place, there were too many people around... He looked quickly over his shoulder and out into the hallway half expecting to see crowds of people pressed up against the glass watching him but it was empty. With a sigh he perched himself on one of the desks still avoiding Damon's eyes. When he finally did look up he was surprised to find that there was no obvious anger in his old foster brother's face, only a level of sympathy and concern. What surprised him more was that seeing those emotions on his face was worse than if he'd been looking at him with the utmost hatred. He didn't deserve Damon's sympathy, he didn't deserve his concern, what he deserved was to have the other man cuss him out and beat him to a pulp for what he'd done.

"You look like shit, man," Damon said with a slight smile but it slipped from his face as his remark was met with only silence. "So you wanna tell me what's going on?" he asked, the look of concern in his eyes deepening when Callen failed to respond yet again. "G? Come on, who's Veser?"

Callen blinked and shook his head slightly. He had to get a grip and he had to do it now. "He's an alias, a security blanket..." he sighed and ran a hand over his face, "You know what, it doesn't really matter, they didn't arrest him they arrested me. They just put that name on the news because they thought more people would know me by it..."

"And do most people know you by that name?" Damon asked, looking genuinely curious.

Callen shook his head. "No, almost no one does but LAPD doesn't know that..."

Silence fell over them for a moment before Damon spoke. "So if what those two agents who were just here said is true then apparently they just found Isaac's body..." he said slowly.

Callen nodded in silence.

"...And they've arrested you for his murder?" Damon continued, looking uncertain.

Callen sighed. "Yeah, pretty much," he said softly.

Damon nodded slowly, clearly considering his words carefully. "So why come here?" he asked finally.

Callen chewed at the inside of his lip for a moment then stood up abruptly and began pacing back and forth all the while running one hand through his short hair. "Because I need to know," he said finally, "Someone must have put LAPD on to this case. I mean no disrespect but it's the body of an unidentified boy found down an alley."

"Wait a second," Damon interrupted suddenly, "What do you mean, 'unidentified?' Those two agents knew who he was, they told me."

Callen sighed. "Sam and Kensi know because I told them. I work at NCIS, they're my friends..."

"You work –?"

"It doesn't matter," said Callen shortly, he was not in the mood to talk about Sam, or Kensi, or NCIS, or anything else along those lines. "The point is the cops don't care about throwaways, they never have and that hasn't changed. There are so many more resent murders in this city, people who have a face and a name and a family grieving over them, why are they investigating Isaac's death?" He had stopped pacing now and was staring at Damon. "The only reason I can think of is that someone put them up to it and I need to know if that someone was you."

Damon looked utterly shocked for a moment before finding his voice once more. "It wasn't me," he said, meeting Callen's gaze and holding it, "If you and your friends hadn't told me I wouldn't even know they'd found his body." He paused and sighed heavily. "Besides that, you didn't kill him. Even if I did know they'd found his body I would never send the cops after an innocent man."

Callen was shaking his head. "I'm not innocent," he muttered almost inaudibly.

"Of course you are!" said Damon rather fiercely, "You did everything you possibly could to take care of us, everything, and yeah in the end things didn't work out like we'd hoped but without you there both me and Isaac would have been dead within a week, or worse! I owe you my life, Callen. I know the last time we spoke I didn't exactly think like that... I know I was actually pretty damn nasty to you..."

"You had good reason," Callen said softly, "You still do..."

"No I didn't," Damon argued, "And no I don't. Look, I've had a lot of time to think about this and I've realized something. When you're scared, when you're hurt emotionally, physically, you just lash out, you blame the first person you can and for me that person was you, Callen. You didn't do anything to deserve it. You didn't kill him. You didn't pull that trigger – "

"I don't remember who pulled the trigger!" The words burst from him before he could stop them. His heart was racing again, his chest had tightened and his breathing coming in short, shaky bursts. Staring at the ceiling above him he fought to regain control before continuing. "I can't remember who pulled the trigger. I remember the shots, all of them but..." He shook his head, a look of disgust on his face.

"Callen it wasn't you," said Damon, "I know it wasn't."

"How do you know?" Callen demanded, his temper flaring slightly. "There's no way you saw who pulled it from where you were, no fucking way!"

"It doesn't make sense," Damon's voice was soft now, almost pleading, "Why would you have done that? You worked your ass off protecting us, it doesn't make sense."

And with those words the anger was gone as quickly as it had come. Callen bowed his head and stared at the floor, feeling suddenly empty as though every emotion and feeling in his body had left it in one fell swoop. All he felt now was exhaustion and the overwhelming desire to find some dark corner and just curl up there and sleep, forever. But he couldn't, not now, so instead he addressed Damon's question all the while keeping his eyes fixed on the floor. "I just wanted it to stop," he said softly, his voice sounding as empty as he felt, "I guess you can only take so much before you just, you just want it to be over. And I guess I got to that point... Damon I think I did this, I think I killed him."

Damon's reaction was not what Callen had been expecting. The dark haired man rose slowly from his chair and walked around the desk to where Callen stood before reaching out and gripping him bracingly on the shoulders. "I still don't think you did it," he said firmly, looking directly in the smaller man's bright blue eyes, "But even if you did I didn't tell your agent friends anything, and I won't tell the cops a thing either if they come asking. You don't deserve to go to jail for this, Callen."

Callen had to fight hard to keep his, admittedly cracked, mask in place. He was saved having to do it for too long, however, when the bell rang out above them.

"You should go," said Damon, releasing his shoulders and glancing at the door, "The kids'll be back any minute."

Callen nodded silently and made his way to the door. Reaching it he paused, his hand on the doorknob and turned around. "I'm sorry, Damon," he said softly, looking up and meeting his eyes, "For everything."

Damon sighed. "Me too." 

* * *

Returning to headquarters with nothing had not been what Sam had in mind when he and Kensi had set off to Perkin's Elementary School but the conversation with Damon Harwood had yielded exactly that. All that they had gained were countless new questions. The drive back had been silent, each agent lost in their own thoughts and neither one of them looking forward to explaining to the others that they had nothing.

As was her habit Hetty didn't not even give them a chance to step both feet into the Ops centre before beginning her questioning. "So what did our friend Damon Harwood have to say?" she asked, looking from Sam to Kensi and back again.

"Absolutely nothing, Hetty!" said Kensi, before Sam could open his mouth. She sounded frustrated beyond belief and was talking with her hands again, a sure sign of agitation. "He stonewalled us. He denied everything. At first he wouldn't even admit that he knew his brother was dead, just said he'd 'run away' and he hadn't heard from him since, then when we called him on that he said he hadn't been there when Isaac died and didn't know anything about it!"

Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd been thinking about Damon's reaction the whole ride back and had come up with what he thought was a reasonable answer. "He doesn't trust cops," he sighed, "Probably never has and, honestly, I can't say that I blame him. It took LAPD this long to find Isaac's body and they don't even have an ID for it yet, do you really think he's going to believe we actually give a damn?"

"Do we give a damn?" Nate asked softly from where he stood next to Eric. He glanced around the room. "C'mon guys, are we trying to solve this case for Isaac and Damon's sake or are we just doing this to get Callen off? I mean, normally we wouldn't even give this case a second glance, we'd just pass it off to LAPD or some other branch of law enforcement without even thinking about trying to do these kids justice..."

An uncomfortable silence followed those words in which Kensi looked slightly shocked, Hetty bowed her head, Eric chewed at his bottom lip and Nate just looked sad. Sam had to admit that he too had been thinking along those lines since talking to Damon. How many kids died like this, forgotten down alleyways or in dark corners where nobody looked? Were they in law enforcement really so high on their horse that they thought these case less important than those of people with a mother crying for them or friends to notice their death?

Sam shook his head. Now was not the time to think about the ideology of being a cop, now was the time to save a friend who was, in fact, the kind of person who would normally be forgotten. "Eric, you got something for us?" he asked, noticing the file open on the computer tech's desktop.

"Oh, yeah," said Eric quickly, looking relieved at the change of subject, "While you guys were back in school we did some digging into the foster home Damon, Isaac and Callen stayed at together. The home was owned by a man named Marvin Kane, looks like he'd been taking in foster kids for a couple of years before they stayed there."

"There is a rather long list of children marked as running away from his home over the years," said Nate, picking up where Eric left off. "And they seem to have a very quick turnaround there."

"What's your professional opinion, Nate?" Sam asked, looking over at the psychologist.

"Hard to say," Nate replied, "I'd have to talk to him before making any judgement."

Sam nodded. "Eric?" he asked.

"Got it," said Eric hitting a few keys. "Marvin Kane is currently sixteen-seven years old and still living in the same house. It also looks like he's still part of the foster system, there are kids registered as living there right now."

Sam sighed at stared at the screen for a moment before looking back at the team. "Kensi, Nate," he said, looking at each other them in turn, "Let's go have a talk with this guy, see if he can't shed any light on things."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Tweve**

"Mr. Hanna!"

Sam, who had been on his way out of the building with Kensi and Nate, stopped in his tracks and spun around at the sound of the voice ringing out behind him, "Hetty," he returned calmly.

The tiny Operations Manager was standing by the open entrance to her office, beckoning him towards her with one cupped hand. "A moment please?" she asked.

Trying valiantly to hide his annoyance Sam forced a smile. "C'mon, Hetty, we're about to go talk to the foster father. Whatever it is, can't it wait until I get back?"

"No, Mr. Hanna, it cannot. My office please." And with that Hetty disappeared into the aforementioned room.

Sam sighed heavily. He turned to Kensi and Nate, who had both stopped to wait for him, and gestured for them to continue on ahead. "I'll meet you guys in the car," he muttered then watched them leave before following Hetty into her office. "So what's so important that that you had to call me in here right this second?" he asked in an even tone.

Hetty gazed up at him from her desk and sighed. "I am aware that this case has been anything but easy on all of us so far," she began, "And you in particular, Mr. Hanna."

Sam raised his eyes to the ceiling and chuckled coldly. He should have known the moment she called him in here what the conversation was going to be about. How could she do this now? Why would she do this now? Sam felt a wave of anger pass over him; he didn't want to have this conversation, not now, especially not now. "What do you want Hetty, to take me off this case?" he snapped.

"No –"

"Do you want us to back off the investigation then?"

"No –"

"Then what? Are you hoping to have me spill all my innermost feelings to you like were having some kind of psych session? Do you want me to tell you that I feel useless? That I'm worried for my best friend's safety but there's nothing I can do about it? Because I do feel useless and I am worried about him and now, instead of getting out there and helping him, I'm sitting here having some stupid discussion about how I 'feel!'" Breathing heavily Sam finally fell silent. He had crossed the line and he knew it, his frustration at their lack of progress, his fear for Callen's wellbeing, everything, had finally boiled over and he knew Hetty had every right after witnessing that little display to pull him from the case once and for all.

Yet the woman sitting before him seemed completely unfazed by his outburst. She merely sighed, looking as calm and collected as ever as she folded her hands slowly on her desk. "This, Mr. Hanna, is precisely what concerns me," she said softly, watching him as his breathing slowly evened out once more, "You have been affected more by the events of the past two days than you have allowed anyone to see and it is my fear that the pent up emotions which have been building over that time will, as was just demonstrated, come to the surface at the most inopportune of moments."

Sam bowed his head slightly. He knew she was right, Hetty was always right, and he took a moment to compose himself before answering. "I don't know what to do Hetty," he admitted softly, staring down at his hands, "We're not helping him, we're not finding anything. Even when we found Damon he gave us nothing. We don't have a clue what the LAPD are doing, we don't know where Callen is, if he's injured or armed, if the LAPD's already got him and we just haven't heard. Hell we don't even know for sure he's still in this state!" He shook his head and sighed hopelessly. "What do I do?"

Hetty gazed at him sadly for a moment before reaching out and placing her hand over his on the desk. "You do what you do best, Mr. Hanna," she said softly, "You investigate, you figure out, and you watch his back."

* * *

Marvin Kane lived in one of the many gated communities which littered LA's high end suburbs. Crisp, well kept lawns and gardens fronted each of the massive houses and cars that would make even Hetty look twice were parked in the driveways. Sam had always wondered what it was that made the wealthy want to live together like this. Was it that they were afraid of the commoners who made up the majority of the population or did they simply not want to associate with anyone who did not bring in more money than a small country in their yearly revenue? Whatever it was he knew as well as anyone in law enforcement that these places were deceiving. Money ran the crime world as much as the civilian one after all.

"Do you guys have any idea what I could do with money like this?" Kensi asked out of the blue. She'd been staring out the window of the Challenger since they'd entered the community, resting her head on her arms.

"No… Do I want to?" Nate replied. He was talking more now, clearly relieved that he was no longer in the doghouse for his role in everything but still treading carefully.

Kensi rolled her eyes but did not reply for they had come to a stop in front of one of the smaller houses on the street. It was by no means less expensive, that much was clear, but it seemed more subdued somehow. Perhaps it was the lack of a flashy car in the driveway, (though it could have been in the garage, Sam realized) or simple fact that it was smaller than its neighbours. The gardens out front were also far smaller, only a few plants were scattered around the front door and they were mostly green with few flowers.

"Doesn't look like he's got a woman in his life," said Kensi to no one in particular, nodding towards the greenery.

They made their way up the stone path, which wound its way across the lawn, to the front door. Sam rang the bell while Kensi peered in the widows on either side and Nate checked over his shoulder. After a moment in which Sam wondered if they had the authority to break the door down should no one come, that same door was pulled open just enough for the face of a young boy, no more than thirteen, to peer out at them.

"Who are you?" he asked suspiciously, staring at each of them in turn.

Sam and Nate both looked at Kensi, who managed not to look annoyed at their behaviour turned to speak to the boy.

"We're NCIS agents," she told him kindly, "We were wondering if a man named Marvin Kane lived here."

"Yeah," the boy replied, his voice taking on a slight edge at Kensi's tone. He pulled the door open a bit more and glared at them. "Do you wanna talk to him or something?"

"Yes, if he's in we'd like that very much," said Nate, drawing the boy's eyes to him.

Sam watched the child with interest. The young eyes were burning with mistrust, the face schooled into an emotionless mask, the voice cold and abrasive. Sam had seen and heard every one of those traits before, in Damon Harwood when he had shut down and refused to tell them anything and in many suspects and witnesses before that. This boy didn't trust cops, that much was very clear.

"Why?"

Sam saw Nate raise an eyebrow at the question and decided to take over. "We're here about on ongoing investigation. We need to talk to your foster father; can you take us to him please?"

The boy eyed him coldly. "Let me see some ID," he demanded.

Sam sighed and was about to pull out his badge when the door was opened all the way. Standing behind the boy was an older man who he could only imagine was Marvin Kane. He was a tall, imposing figure, clearly past his prime yet still well dressed and in relatively good shape.

"Matthias," he said, addressing the boy calmly, "I do hope you're being polite."

"Of course," the boy, Matthias, replied, "These people say they're agents with NCIS, they say they need to talk to you about some investigation. I was just asking them for their ID before I brought them to you." He gave the two agents and Nate a look as if daring them to say anything other than that.

If Kane noticed the look he didn't comment, instead he told Matthias to go work on his homework and invited everyone inside (after checking their IDs and telling Matthias asking for them had been a wise decision.) He led them into the living room, a large, spacious room furnished with a variety of clearly expensive pieces, from the art to the chairs to the bookshelves.

"Please, sit," he said, gesturing to around the room, "Make yourselves comfortable. Would you like anything, tea perhaps? I'm assuming you're on duty so no alcohol."

"No, thank you, this shouldn't take long," Sam replied, he wasn't in the mood for tea drinking or long conversations. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. He had promised Hetty that he would keep himself under control, that no matter what happened he would be the picture of professionalism but that did not stop him from being impatient.

"As you like." Kane sat down across from them and sighed, "I apologize for Matthias if he was rude to you, he's had some less-than-pleasant experiences with law enforcement and as a result tends not to trust them."

"Oh, no harm done," said Kensi with a smile, "He's one of your foster children I take it?"

'Yes," Kane replied, "Matthias has been here for a few months now. He's a good kid, troubled, very troubled, but a good kid."

"He's not your only foster child though, is he?" Nate asked.

"No, no. I have two other boys at the moment. Both of them are off with friends tonight, Matthias would be also if he wasn't grounded. He got in a fight a week back and I've told him he's not going out again until I'm certain he can do it responsibly." He shook his head with a slight smile, "But nevermind that. What brings NCIS here of all places?"

Sam sighed as both Kensi and Nate glanced at him. "We're here about a group of foster children who lived here about twenty five years ago," he said, "The year would have been 1983."

Kane looked uncertain, tilting his head slightly and raising one eyebrow. "I'm going to apologize in advance if I can't remember exactly what you're looking for," he said, "I've been doing this thrity-two years, faces start to fade together after a while. It's the sad truth."

"We understand that," Sam pushed forward, "But it's worth a shot, we thought."

"And I agree," said Kane with a slight smile, "Give me the names."

"Damon Harwood, his younger brother Isaac Harwood and G Callen," Sam listed them off, purposely leaving Callen's name until last so as to judge the reaction to each one.

With Damon and Isaac's names flashes of recognition crossed the older man's face and when Callen's name was spoken his eyes darkened and he nodded sadly. "I remember them," he said softly, "I remember them… I've seen a lot of troubled children over the years, I take in mostly 'Pinballs' as they call themselves, kids who bounce from home to home. Children no one else wants. Most don't stay long here but I try to help all I can. One thing you learn mighty quick, however, is there's a big difference between troubled and trouble and G Callen was both with a capital T." He sighed. "I had Callen in my care three times. I wanted to help him, it's the only reason I allowed him to come back but I failed, and I admit that. The boy spent more time getting arrested than anything else, his second time here he took a knife to me –" he pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal a raised white scar in his shoulder "- and I still allowed him to come back once more…"

Sam was staring at Kane but he wasn't really seeing him; he was thinking about Callen, about all the Ops they'd done together, all the times Callen had played with his kids, eaten at his home… His partner was not the person Kane had just described. He couldn't be. But the arrests were real, they knew that, and he knew Callen had an aggressive streak, he'd seen it on the job... He shook his head slightly. Everyone had those streaks, everyone had their moments when anger got the better of them and they did something they normally wouldn't. G was not the man Kane seemed to think he was, he just wasn't…

"The body of Isaac Harwood has just been discovered," said Nate softly, pulling Sam from his thoughts, "He was murdered back in 1994, when he was living here, and we wondered if you knew anything about that."

"You mean did I have anything to do with it or know who did?" Kane asked wryly, "Yeah, I can make an educated guess who did it. Callen and Isaac didn't get along. Damon tried to play peacemaker between the two of them but with a temper like the one Callen had I'm not surprised Isaac's dead."

"You – you think Callen killed him!?" Kensi bust out suddenly, clearly unable to keep her mouth shut any longer, "He was fourteen at the time!"

Sam knew he had to calm Kensi down, and fast, but he was so grateful to her for speaking before him himself exploded that he kept his mouth shut and trusted Nate to do something.

The psychologist did not disappoint. "Kensi," he said softly, silencing her before turning to Kane, "How could you be surprised that Isaac is dead? He died while in your care, didn't you notice when he didn't come back?"

Kane shook his head sadly. "It's not unusual for children to run away," he said with a sigh, "As I've told you I take in the troubled kids, runaways come with the territory. I impose rules on them, as I have with Matthias, for example. I take away privileges when they misbehave and for some of the children who have grown so used to having no one that is highly inconvenient so they run. On the streets they are their own boss, and no adult can tell them what to do."

Sam took a breath; pushing away the emotions he could feel bubbling just below the surface of his control and forcing himself to remain professional. "You're certain it was Callen?" he asked, looking the older man in the eye, "Why?"

"Because Callen was the only one of those three who was cold blooded enough to kill," Kane replied simply, "And yes," he added, turning to Kensi, "He was capable of that at fourteen. He proved he was capable of it at twelve when he stabbed me!" He sighed and ran a hand through his grey hair, "Look, all I know is one night I came home to the three of them arguing. Damon took Isaac and they left then Callen went after them and not one of them ever came back. I didn't know what happened to them at the time. I had hoped that Damon and Isaac got away from Callen and moved on with their lives but now you've told me that they didn't and I'm really not surprised."

Sam decided right then and there that the interview was over, not because they had the information they needed but because he needed out of there, and judging by the looks on both their faces so did Kensi and Nate. He stood up abruptly, fighting to keep the emotions off his face, and glanced at the others. "Well, thank you for your time Mr. Kane," he said quickly, "We really should be going now."

Kensi and Nate didn't need telling twice, in a heartbeat they were on their feet and moving with him towards the door.

"I really did try to save him you know," Kane called out after them, causing them to turn around at look back at him, still seated in his chair, "But with Callen there was just nothing left to save." 

* * *

Focusing on the road ahead of him was the only thing which had kept Sam from punching something until his knuckles bled. The Challenger was completely silent, Kensi was breathing heavily, gripping her armrest far more vigorously than was necessary and Nate was staring into space looking slightly pale. The silence stretched on and on, even as Sam turned on to the freeway and got the car up to cruising speed while the vehicles in the opposite lanes flew past.

"Nate?" said Kensi suddenly, turning to look into the back seat where the psychologist sat, "What did you think of Mr. Kane?" She was clearly trying to keep her voice even, as though this were a normal conversation, but there was a slight edge to it which wasn't normally there.

Nate sighed. "He's a smart man," he said softly, "And very hard to read. Thirty-two years is a long time to do something and there are only two reasons a person would keep something up that long, either because they love it or because they get something really good out of it."

"Money," said Sam coldly.

"Yes, like money," Nate agreed.

"The money given to foster parents isn't great," Kensi pointed out, "At least not compared to whatever he's raking in to afford that house."

"I don't think he does it for the money," said Nate, "But I don't think it's for love either. Did you two see a single picture of any of his kids anywhere in that place?"

Kensi shook her head. "Then why does he do it?" she asked.

Nate shrugged. "I honestly don't know..."

Sam let out a frustrated sighed. "Alright then," he said, fighting to stay calm, "What do you think of his claim that Callen stabbed him?"

"I told you, he's very hard to read..." Nate replied softly.

"Then give me an educated guess," Sam snapped.

Nate bowed his head. "Yes," he said finally.

"Yes!?" said Kensi incredulously, staring at him.

Nate's eyes flashed suddenly. "Yes! Yes!-Yes!-Yes!" he snapped, his voice rising in volume with every word, "Now stop biting my head off I'm just telling you what I saw! His body language said he was telling the truth that Callen stabbed him, it's not my fault!"

Sam was stunned as, it seemed, was Kensi for she fell silent. Nate never snapped, ever. All this arguing, Nate snapping... Sam shook his head; this case was killing them all. It was slowly eating them away from the inside, pushing a wedge between all of them and causing emotions to render them blind. He didn't even want to know what Callen was feeling right now.

"Oh shit," said Kensi suddenly, staring in the side mirror.

"What?" Nate asked, looking around.

Sam, pulled from his thoughts, glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw quite quick what; an LAPD squad car was following along behind them, its light and sirens blaring.

"What the hell!?" Kensi threw her hands in the air, "You weren't even speeding!"

Sam sighed and pulled over without saying a word. This day just kept getting better and better. First Colby told them that Callen was likely to be shot on site if the LAPD got the chance, then Damon gave them nothing, then Kane told them Callen was a cold blooded killer, and now they were getting pulled over for doing the speed limit. Wonderful.

He lowered his window as the officer approached and began searching through the center consol for the registration paper. "Look, Officer," he said without looking up, "I have no idea what you're pulling me over for –" But he froze as he sat up at last and laid eyes on the man staring in through the open window. "Colby!"

"Callen's in trouble," said the detective quickly, his nerves clearly visible on his face.

The atmosphere in the Challenger changed instantly as any lingering anger disappeared only to be replaced with a tense worry.

"What do you mean, 'trouble?'" Sam asked, dreading the answer. If there was one thing Callen was good at it was getting into trouble.

"I mean LAPD's got his location and they're moving in now!"

"Where is he?" Kensi asked.

"A block or two away from Perkin's Elementary School," Colby replied.

Sam and Kensi exchanged a look. "Drive," Sam ordered, turning back to Colby, "We'll follow you."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, pushing his foot into the floor panel of the Challenger as he willed the vehicle to move faster. There was a pounding in his ears, every muscle in his body was tensed and cramping painfully and his jaw was set fast. Trust Callen to get cornered by the LAPD, trust him to be the one who gets in trouble... Sam sighed. He couldn't blame Callen, this wasn't his fault. Hetty had told him once that he tended to play the blame game when he was scared, and he was scared now. He'd never admit it, ever, to anyone, but he was scared. Callen was not an easy person to find, he was not an easy person to corner, yet the LAPD had somehow managed it. Normally he would give credit where credit was due and say they did a good job but he couldn't, not this time. Because he knew Callen, knew that when the heat was on he was all but impossible to find, which left only one option and he didn't like it in the slightest. He didn't want to know what could have shaken his partner badly enough that he made a mistake.

In the backseat of the Challenger, Nate was on the phone with Hetty trying to explain everything to the Operations Manager while in the passenger's seat Kensi was leaned so close to her window that it seemed she wanted to put her head out completely.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon..." she muttered, her eyes fixed on Colby's squad car as it parted traffic before them.

That was another question Sam founds himself pondering. Colby. It wasn't that he didn't trust the older man; after all he'd done nothing but help them, keep them in the loop, and give them all the information he had. Hell without him they wouldn't even know Callen was in trouble right now. No it wasn't that he didn't trust him, it was just that he wondered about him. If what both Callen and Colby had said was true then it had been twenty years since the two last spoke and now Colby was willing putting his career on the line for him. Sam could understand loyalty, he was a SEAL after all, they lived by that code, but the level of loyalty Colby was showing still surprised him. Callen and that sort of loyalty just didn't go together. That was not to say that Callen wasn't loyal, Sam knew with absolute certainty that he was; he would never betray his partner, his organization, his country... G Callen was a loyal man. But a life of drifting from place to place, in and out of other people's lives, had robbed him on the chance to learn what it meant to be loyal to any one person for more than a few months. He was learning, and learning well, but still learning.

"Oh hell..." said Kensi softly as she stared out the windshield, wide eyed.

And 'oh hell' pretty much summed it up. They had reached an intersection in the road where at least twenty police cars had formed a makeshift barrier blocking the public out. There were officers scattered everywhere, herding back bystander, taking up position with their guns drawn under the cover of their vehicles, and shouting orders to each other. Ahead of them Colby hopped out of his squad car and shot them a quick, pained glance before running off into the mayhem and leaving them alone. Sam followed his lead, stopping the Challenger far enough away that it would not look suspicious then climbing out silently.

"What do we do?" Nate asked softly, having clambered out of the car after Sam.

The ex SEAL shook his head. What should they do? What_ could_ they do? They had no power in this case, they couldn't simply run up and tell LAPD that Callen was an NCIS agent and they couldn't shoot him. Hetty had made it very clear that they were to keep that information a secret and he could see why, countless operations would be compromised if Callen were burned like that. But that still left the question, what could they do?

"Thomas Veser, we've got you surrounded!" Detective Bronstrum's voice rang out over the sirens and other assorted noises coming from the police barricade, he was shouting into a loudspeaker from behind the cover of a squad car. "Come out slowly with you hands in the air!"

Sam followed his gaze and felt his chest tighten slightly. Hidden in the shadows of one of the buildings bordering the intersection he could make out the faint outline of a figure crouched down a side alley and using the building's wall as cover. As he watched Callen poked his head out from behind wall and did a quick evaluation of the situation and Sam squinted to make out the facial expression.

What he saw made him forget his plan of making eye contact with his partner because the look of pure fear on Callen's face caught him completely off guard. G Callen looked lost. For one of the only times since he'd met him Sam saw the lonely, orphaned child Callen hid so well on the face of his best friend.

"Veser! We know you're back there!" Bronstrum barked into his microphone, "Come out now and nobody gets hurt!"

Sam watched the indecision on Callen's face finding himself more and more troubled by the fact that he could read the younger man so easily. This wasn't like Callen, not at all. He watched as his partner's eyes darted desperately around him, searching for some way out. He saw the way he changed his stance ever so slightly and his right hand drifted towards his back and he knew.

Callen was armed.

"Shit…" he groaned, running a hand over his face.

"What?" said Kensi, turning to stare at him, "Sam, what?"

"He's armed." The words sounded even more ominous when he said them out loud.

"What!?" Kensi exclaimed her attention shifting to Callen again, "No. No, no, no, no, no… Callen don't do it, there's no way you can fight your way out…"

"He's going do it," said Nate softly, he looked at Sam, then Kensi, his eyes full of concern. "You guys saw that look. Callen doesn't show emotion like that, he's in trouble and I don't mean because the cops have cornered, I think – "

A gunshot cut through the air like a knife and everything went silent.

Sam spun round and caught sight of Callen ducking behind the cover as something exploded against the wall behind him. When he reappeared the gun Sam had correctly guessed he was carrying was clenched in his hands.

"Weapon!" Sam heard one of the officers in the fray shout and the number of guns drawn grew instantly.

"What are they shooting at him for?" Kensi asked breathlessly, "Course he's gonna pull a weapon if he's being shot at!"

But Sam had had enough. Without saying a word he started forward towards the police blockade, towards the crowds of officers, towards his partner.

"Sam, wait!" Nate called out behind him, "Where are you going?"

"To do something," Sam replied shortly.

"What?"

"No idea."

And it was true, he had absolutely no idea what he was going to do. His only thought was to get to Callen, to show him that he wasn't alone. Nate was right; his partner was in trouble in more ways than just the cops being on his tail. With that single thought in mind, Sam pushed forward reaching the crowd of bystanders and beginning to work his way through them.

"Veser this is your last warning!" Bronstrum's voice was growing louder now as Sam approached him, "Give yourself up or we will shoot your murdering ass!"

Sam's pace quickened.

Forward, forward, sidestep, forward again. He moved through the maze of people as quickly as anyone possibly could. Kensi was right behind him. He could see her out of his peripheral vision, navigating the crowd with the same determination as himself and keeping up to him easily. They reached the police blockade and Sam was forced to stop and evaluated his options.

He could see Bronstrum from where he stood, ducked behind his squad car and shouting orders to the cops around him. The detective was talking to a man dressed in the standard member of SWAT and Sam strained his ears to make out their conversation.

"The teams are in position, Detective," said the man, "How do you want us to do this?"

"Take him down any way you have to," Bronstrum replied.

Sam glanced round at Kensi and saw that her face too had lost all its colour. As their eyes met she nodded. There was no other choice now. They waited until the officers patrolling the blockade weren't looking and ducked under it swiftly, hurrying towards the action.

But they weren't the only ones making a beeline towards Callen, three SWAT teams were approaching him quickly, their weapons drawn and ready.

"Drop the weapon and put your hands on your head!" one of the SWAT guys shouted at him.

Callen didn't move, he stayed just out of their line of fire with his gun still clutched in his hands.

"Do you wanna get shot? Drop. The. Gun!"

Still Callen didn't move and as Sam got out of the crowd and to a position where he could see his partner's face he knew why.

Callen was frozen. His blue eyes were wide and glazed over, his face even paler than Kensi's had been and twisted into a look of helpless fear. This was bad. SWAT was going to get there first and Callen, being Callen, would try and shot his way out, something Sam knew was sure to get him killed.

He started to run, Kensi still right behind him as they sprinted towards their friend and co-worker. But they never got there.

The squealing of tires and the shouting of officers and SWAT members alike brought them to a halt before they had so much as crossed the street. A car had somehow got through the blockade and been stopped by officers directly in front of the alley down which Callen had taken cover. The driver of the car looked flustered as he opened his door and jumped out, his hands in the air, and Sam couldn't stop his jaw from sagging a little but when he realized who it was.

"Get the hell out of here you fucking idiot!" one of the officers shouted at him.

"I'm sorry!" Nate shouted back, he looked around and Sam saw his eyes meet Callen's for a spilt second, "I'm sorry!"

And just like that the moment was gone, Nate was back in his car and backing down the street and out of the blockade without waiting to see if the cops wanted to do anything with him for his actions while the SWAT teams were rushing into the alley once more. Sam and Kensi stood frozen, waiting for the inevitable gunshot that would end everything but it never came, instead a single SWAT member came out of the alley with a disgusted look on his face.

"Bronstrum," he called with a sigh, "He's gone."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

The steady rhythm of pounding feet along the pavement was usually calming to him; it was normally something which helped chase worries and stress from his mind. But not now. Now the pounding was erratic, unorganized, choppy. Now there was no rhythm, nothing steady to hold on to, just a man sprinting as fast and as hard as he could. One foot in front of the other, never stopping, never slowing. One, two. One, two. One, two...

Callen knew he was in trouble. It had been years since he'd run like this, so hard that he was no longer cognitively aware of the decisions his body was making for him, so fast that his senses were forced to heighten just to keep up, so long that his mind had become numb with shock and exhaustion… He could feel himself slipping with every step, disappearing into that dark place where the animal buried inside came out, where only primal instincts survive. The place that would keep you alive for a time but would kill you in the end.

He'd been there before, in that dark, unfriendly place where your memories and your senses and your imagination become one. The place where what you did and what you think you did may or may not be one and the same. The place where the monsters came from inside you and swallowed you whole. It was a fluid place, always shifting and changing and never holding its shape, transforming freely as his mind fought for control.

_He remembered being cold; sticky, clammy and cold as death. The world was nothing but motion, colours, shapes, sounds, and smells all spinning and flashing and twisting around him. Somewhere, deep in the depth of his mind, he knew he should move, that this place wasn't safe, but he wasn't sure why, or where this place was, or if he was even there. He shut his eyes again, groaned when the spinning didn't stop, and curled his arms around himself. _

_Maybe he was injured or maybe not, he couldn't remember, couldn't tell, and honestly didn't care. He didn't know what he felt anymore, couldn't recognize it. Pain was normal, normal was pain, and everything in between meant nothing. He didn't care about help anymore, didn't care about healing or taking care. Why should he care? He would die like this either way, if not now then tonight or tomorrow or the day after when he did it all again. Because he couldn't stop, not now, not ever, and he wasn't even sure he wanted to. _

There were people out and about, the streets and sidewalks alive with activity. Businessmen walking back to work after their lunch breaks, cars weaving in and around each other, tourists wandering the city… Everywhere he looked there was someone doing something and every one of them looking calm, relaxed and in control. Not like him. He ran through it, his eyes flying in every direction, his ears tuned for the slightest hint of sirens in the distance. They were still there, behind him, searching.

He ran harder, ducked down alleys, climbed fences. He had to keep moving, he wouldn't let them catch him, he couldn't… One, two. One, two. One, two. His legs felt like lead, his chest burned but he pushed on, sprinting across lanes of moving traffic and ducking into yet another alley on the other side. People looked at him, watched him as he ran by, curious and wondering but he did not stop. He knew the cops would have witnesses, knew they would be able to track him that way, but there was no other choice, he had to run.

_He had to keep running. It was the only thought in his mind, the only thing keeping him going. He could barely see for pain, a sharp stabbing pain that coursed through his legs and his hips and his back and his ribs and his arms... Coursed through everything. He was tired, so tired, he wanted to fall and sleep and never wake up. He was stumbling, tripping, scarping his hands and knees so that blood poured from the fresh wounds and added itself to what already covered his body. But he stood back up each time, kept moving, kept running. He couldn't go back. _

_There was a fence ahead, taller than his tiny frame and topped with barbed wire. He jumped, climbed, almost made it, but he was too tired. His foot slipped, he fell forward and the barbed wire caught him, snared him, left him hanging. The metal dug into his skin, tore flesh away but held him fast. It stabbed at his face, his arms and torso, piercing his stomach and back as he wriggled and fought like an animal caught in a trap. He was crying; he couldn't help it. He hurt, everywhere, from before, from the wire, from everything. And he would find him, he would be the one to cut him down, and it would happen again and he wouldn't be able to fight it._

_Somehow one of his legs caught the fence and he pulled himself towards it, clutched it desperately and squirmed and wiggled until the wire gave way and he fell to the ground in a heap of flesh and bone and blood. He lay there for a moment, chocking on tears and sobbing still harder at the fresh waves of pain but after mere seconds the fear gripped him once more and he staggered back to his feet. Then he was running again, running until an alley appeared before him and he ducked into it and finally gave in, falling to his knees and curling against the wall as he shivered uncontrollably. _

It was the cold against his back which brought him back, pulled him from the memories which had consumed him and forced reality to slap him across the face. He blinked, tried to remember where he was, what he was doing and why, tried to force the feelings and the memories away. An alley stared back at him as he looked around, cold, dark, and unwelcoming. He couldn't remember running down it, nor could he recall making the decision to stop and take a seat while being chased by the whole of the LAPD but that did not matter, at least he knew the whys. Breathing heavily he took a moment to gather his wits about him.

He'd been running too long; he knew that much. He knew that when the memories consumed him while he was awake things were going badly, very badly. And that was one memory he had not revisited for some time, one he'd worked hard to forget completely. He was out of control, loosing it, lost it. Callen was gone, dead, broken, destroyed, and he was all that remained. He bowed his head, breathed deeply and tried, tried to control the fear, the panic, everything. But such things are not easily controlled and they continued to chew at him, continued to destroy him from the inside out.

_It had been rat poison. Not his first choice but close at hand and easy, so easy… The pain had been intense, twisting and clawing and ripping at his insides as his blood turned to water and burned through every vein. He could feel it moving, sending tremors and convulsions to the tip of each finger and toe as the oxygen left his muscles for good. His vision faded, went grey and foggy before bloody red spots erupted before his eyes. He could not remember ever having felt this kind of pain, could not remember a time when he was so certain that everything was over, and he could not remember the last time he felt so happy and calm._

_A strong pair of hands grabbed him suddenly, held his head and stopped it from bouncing off the pavement which served as his final resting place. Someone was speaking somewhere high above but he couldn't see them, didn't want to see them, didn't want them there. He wanted to tell them to go away, that he was happy here, finally. But his mouth wouldn't obey his commands, wouldn't open, and his lungs would listen either, couldn't bring in enough air and instead of speaking he chocked and groaned weakly._

_But the hands didn't leave, instead they held him tighter, pulled open his eyes, checked his pulse, his breathing everything, their owner speaking to him the whole time. The words were nothing but uncoordinated sounds and he chose to ignore them, ignore everything and close his eyes, willing the darkness to take him. And as he felt himself being lifted by those same strong hands, the darkness finally obliged. _

He shook his head, forcing the newest memory away. Control, he had to get control. He had to get it now. He was still Callen, he was. Callen wasn't dead, wasn't gone, he was here, he was him and he would not lose that, not again. He was Callen; Callen was strong, strong enough to do this, to beat this, to survive. Just like before. Just like always. He looked around, forced his mind into logical thought for the first time since the cops had cornered him at the school.

He was still sitting on his ass down some alley where the cops could corner him once more with no trouble at all, how the hell was he supposed to stay clear of them when he couldn't even get a handle on his own head? He took a deep breath, focused on the air filling his lungs then leaving it again, slowly, controlled. It was harder than it should have been, getting that breath in and releasing it, for a tightness in his throat and lungs fought against all movement. He was panicking, spiralling, crashing, like before…

Anger flared inside him, burning the panic away at least for the moment. He couldn't go back to that place, he wouldn't let himself. Gripping the sides of his pants so hard his knuckles went white he forced himself to calm down, forced the memories, the fear and the panic away. They weren't helping, those feelings, and he didn't have time to break now, to let them beat him. He was stronger than this. He had to be. He knew what he needed, he needed to get away, needed to figure this out, if not for his own sake then for Isaac and Damon's.

Slowly he felt control return to him as he sat in the darkness of the alley, felt his mental barriers slowly start to rebuild themselves and his heart stop racing but he knew he was far from the state he was used to. Now was not the time to dwell on that, however, there were things that needed figuring out, things which confused him. Nate's behaviour was one of them. Nate was a man who acted on what his brain told him, not his heart. He was a man who thought things through, understood them fully before partaking in them, always.

Why then had he saved him? For Callen knew that's what he'd done, without Nate's interference, without his yelling at him he would have remained frozen and useless until the cops had recaptured him or worse. Yes, Nate had saved him, no question there. But why? Why, when the psychologist had made it clear that he believed him to be guilty, would he risk his career, his life, for him? If Sam had done it he would have had no problem understanding the motive, or Hetty, or Kensi, but not Nate…

That was not to say that he didn't trust Nate, or that he thought the psychologist would ever let him die but he was, as a rule, not an impulsive person. That save had been impulsive, the textbook definition of impulsive, and it didn't fit. Nothing was fitting. Nothing made sense. Callen let out a sigh which sounded more like a groan and ran his hands through his short hair as he felt the panic begin to prickle at the back of his mind once more.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Nate didn't know what it was that got his heart beating faster as he unlocked the door to his apartment, walked inside, removed his shoes and dropped his bag. A nervousness clawed at him from inside his chest, an uncertainty, like he was forgetting something important. But he had forgotten something important and he knew that, he'd forgotten to think. He'd acted – no reacted – without thought or understanding, knowing only that he had to do something, that he couldn't let Callen be taken away and have it be his fault. For it would have been his fault if the capture had taken place then, undoubtedly it would have been. It had been him who had pushed at the agent's mental barriers and forced his way inside. It had been him who had made that first crack in an attempt to see what was on the other side. Whatever you wanted to call it, he had been the one to start it.

With a sigh he moved from the doorway and into the kitchen, pulling vegetables from the refrigerator and beginning to prepare his meal. His actions, unplanned as they may have been, had won him back a place in the good books of the team. Sam, Kensi, even Hetty, had all complimented him upon their return to headquarters, all told him they were thankful for his quick thinking, for his bravery. But it hadn't been brave what he did, not at all. He hadn't had time for it to have been brave. He hadn't had time to think! How could something to brave if one did not truly know what he was doing? That was not to say that he regretted his decision, he would never, ever regret saving a friend but he wasn't sure, even now, that he'd done it the right way.

Hetty had told him once that he had a logical mind, and that his logical mind prevented him from making the rash decisions that were so commonplace with the agents. This decision though, this one had been rash, reckless, and according to Sam, worthy of an agent. There was a time when that simple remark would have made him swell with pride but that time was gone, lost in the same moment he lost Callen back in that interview room. He shouldn't have had to make that choice today; Callen should have been able to get away without his help. That moment, the look of pure helplessness on the face of a man who was known for showing nothing when it came to his feelings... Nate shook his head. That was the first time he'd ever known Callen to freeze.

It was that look which scared him the most, more than anything else that had happened that day. It had been wrong, it should never have happened and now that it had Nate knew what he had to do. Things were worse than he'd originally thought and he knew the team needed to be told. All the digging they did, all the running around, all the investigation to try and help their team mate would be rendered useless if Callen lost his mind before they got there. It was a horrible thought but one the psychologist knew wasn't too far off if things kept going the way they were.

Callen had always been the most vulnerable when it came to having a breakdown of some kind and Nate had always known that when it happened (not if, as with most of the agents, but when) it would hit him hard and fast, before he had a chance to understand what was happening. He'd known it would consume the older man, as he could only assume was happening now, and he felt fury rise up inside him as he realized that even though he had known all this he had still been unable to do anything to stop it. If only Callen hadn't been so goddamned stubborn... But this wasn't G's fault. Despite the stubbornness, despite the practiced set of lies the agent told him every time he'd been debriefed or forced into for mandatory consoling it had never been G's fault. It was his. He'd been unable to help Callen before, he'd triggered this particular attack and he'd just helped him run away to face everything on his own once more. Really wonderful job, Dr. Getz... 

* * *

It wasn't until he returned home that night that Sam thought of it. It wasn't until he turned on the TV and saw the news report on the day's chase flashing before his eyes and describing a child murderer named Thomas Veser who'd been cornered by LAPD but was able to escape that the horror began to flow. The reason for the escape was not explained in the broadcast and he could only assumed the police had managed to keep it quiet but still it got him thinking. Nate had been seen when he got out of that car, he'd looked right into the faces of several of the officers around them, into Bronstrum's face... And Bronstrum, for one, knew him. Or rather, he knew Benjamin Mueller.

It was that same thought which got him to work early the next morning, which had him hurrying towards Hetty's office as soon as he saw only Kensi in the bullpen, and which had him trying valiantly to keep himself calm while his heart beat a mile a minute in his chest. The open doorway appeared before him and he almost ran towards it, bounding up the few steps leading to it and stopping, poised, before knocking on the wooden frame.

"Hetty." His voice was sharper than he intended, more emotion showing through than was normal and lacing his tone with worry and fear. They had already lost so much...

She looked up at him, seemingly unsurprised by his visit or his tone as she studied him. Her eyes were tired; the bags beneath them were barely concealed by her makeup and the lines of her aged face seemed somehow more pronounced than usual. But she was still Hetty, still the all knowing Operations Manager who held the team together through thick and thin, through times like these.

"Mr. Hanna," she replied, her voice, unlike his, steady and void of any unnecessary emotion, "What can I do for you this morning?"

But she knew, and he knew she knew yet they carried on playing the game anyway, continued with their roles and forced the words to come out. Because he needed to say it and she needed to hear it for either one of them to believe it was true. And so he cleared his throat, steadied his voice to match the calmness in hers and asked the question, a simple question yet one packed with so much.

"Has Nate come into work yet?"

Her answer was not needed for Sam to know what it would be but, like a good little actor, he allowed her to reply regardless and, like a good little actress, she did.

"I have yet to see him," her voice did not change, did not falter as she held true to her role as only a professional could, "Why do you ask, Mr. Hanna?"

Some games one can quit halfway through, walk away when the going gets tough or your team starts to lose. Some games, however, require an ending, as this one did. And so he grasp for his role one last time, forced it in place, held it there firmly and answered, saying the words he'd dreaded since last night and believing them for the first time. "He was seen yesterday, when he pulled that stunt to get Callen out of there. Bronstrum saw him."

"And Detective Bronstrum also saw Benjamin Muller, did he not?" Hetty returned, like him working to keep her role in place.

"Yeah, he did." But suddenly he didn't want to play anymore, suddenly the game no longer felt needed. So his role fell away, the voice, the character, everything, and left only him, worried and overrun with stress. "Hetty, enough with the pretences. Nate isn't here, he's late, and yesterday there's the possibility that he was made. Can't we just do something, please?"

Hetty sighed, folding her hands calmly on her desk and looking Sam over like a parent searching for the best way to explain something to their child. "And what do you propose we do, Mr. Hanna?" she asked softly, "By all means, if you have an idea…"

She left the sentence hanging and Sam ground his teeth in frustration. Truthfully there was next to nothing they could do, unless the LAPD made an arrest they had no way of knowing if Nate had been taken into custody or not. Sam was betting on not. While he had no doubt in his mind that Bronstrum had picked up the psychologist, he was also certain that arresting him wasn't his first priority. Bronstrum wasn't stupid, in fact from what Sam had seen and heard he was rather clever, and dark skinned agent harboured the strong suspicion that the detective's plans were more about finding Callen than punishing Nate. Not that he wouldn't do the latter as well.

"Guys," came a female voice suddenly from behind them, interrupting the staring match between agent and Operations Manager which had been filling the silence in the office, "Has anyone seen…?"

But Kensi didn't need to finish her question, one look at Sam and Hetty's faces and she knew they'd just been discussing the same thing. She looked as tired as they did, her eyes held none of their usual sparkle and she was dressed far more plainly than was usual. Her hair was back but not as though she'd put effort into it but more like she'd needed to do something with it and an elastic had been close by.

"They got him, didn't they?" she asked softly.

Apparently needless questions came with the territory. Kensi knew, just as Sam and Hetty knew, but like the two before her she seemed to feel the need to play the game. Maybe, just maybe, if they pretended not to know it wouldn't be true...

Sam sighed, running a hand over his face and shot Hetty a look before replying. "I don't know..." he said, sounding as resigned as he felt.

"Perhaps," said Hetty slowly, "We should find out." 

* * *

He was the psychologist, he was the one meant to be doing the reading, understanding the suspects, spotting the lies. He was not the one meant to be sitting in the hard wooden chair, resting his hands on the table and trying desperately to think of the very lies he was meant to spot. He knew he couldn't lie like them, he knew he wasn't as mentally tough as them and he was sure that he would break far before they would but he would not betray them. If the lying didn't work (and from the look on Bronstrum's face it wouldn't,) then he would stonewall and he would keep stonewalling. He would stonewall his way into prison if it kept the others safe, because they were a team and they'd do the same for him.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

The house looked just as he remembered it, well kept and plain enough to blend in yet to him, terrifying. It was all terrifying, from the street with its carefully maintained pavement and sidewalks, to the lawns, all crisp and trimmed and green, to the building itself. From the shadows of the house across the way he could almost smell the blood and death as though he was still soaked in it. And then there was him, he the most terrifying of all... He stood upon the front stoop of that plain looking home calmly watering the sparse green plants around his door, giving life to them as easily as he'd taken his.

For that was what he'd done, taken his life and torn it to ribbons, shredded it and left it in pieces on the ground, forgotten. He would know, he had to know, he'd seen every moment, controlled it all... The plan was simple and surprisingly well thought out considering the situation. He was a killer in the eyes of the world anyway, what was the harm in acting like it? His fingers moved subconsciously to the weapon in his waistband, trailing slowly over the cool metal and a bitter laugh escaped him, sharp and cold. How crazy was he right now that this seemed like a good idea, that this seemed right? How far had he fallen that he was allowing himself to become exactly what the old bastard had always wanted him to be?

Shaking his head he backed further into the shadows, hid himself in their darkness and sighed. Sam would never approve this plan. Sam would tell him there had to be another way, that the old man wasn't worth it, and that it would only end up hurting him in the long run. But Sam wasn't here. Sam couldn't be here. Sam wasn't a killer and he was, just like he was meant to be. He forced those thoughts from his head, forced himself to think only about the task at hand rather than the look of disappointment that would crease his partner's face could he see him now. Because Sam would never need to know, would never be told and would never see him again.

Taking a breath he moved forward, reached the edge of the shadows where the afternoon sun cast its glow over the grass and froze. The bastard was smiling, talking to a neighbour who was passing by without a care in a world, laughing along at some pointless joke... And he panicked, an uncontrollable fear rising up inside him as he stumbled away from the light and pressed himself against the wall of the house.

_Wooden floor wet with blood in pools around him. Cloth in hand, must clean up, make the evidence go away. Should have been him, this time, last time, always. But it never was. The pools lessens, the drips stain his hands, forever. And the monster watches, gun in hand, smiling, laughing... Then he moves, suddenly, drops to his knees next to him, wraps an arm around his broken frame and presses the gun into his blood soaked hands. _

"_Feels right, doesn't it?"_

_And he holds his breath, fights the tremors in his hands while shakes his head._

"_No..."_

But it did.

He bowed his head, blinking hard as he willed the images and memories away and took a breath. The bastard would know. He would know and he would tell him. Because he couldn't go on not knowing, he couldn't go on wondering... He had to know, right here, right now, who had pulled the trigger. He had to know who the murder was... And anger flooded through him, replacing the fear, pushing it away. He had one chance, he had to do this. The old man couldn't hurt him. Not anymore... Not again...

And he moved, towards the light once more, across the street, behind a car, behind a bush, behind him. The smell of expensive cologne drifted towards him the same as before, the same as always. It wafted up his nose, made the bile rise up in his throat and he nearly retched, but he swallowed it down. The cold of the metal in his hand gave him strength, kept him going and he pressed it into his back, whispered in his ear, told him to go inside. The neighbour was gone, hadn't seen a thing. He was invisible, like always. So he pressed the gun harder, forced him forward and shut the door behind them leaving only traces of the smell outside.

* * *

Throughout his years working with NCIS, Nate had always found himself wondering why suspects who were clearly exhausted never took the chance to get a few moments sleep while they were left alone in interrogation. Even the most coldblooded of killers would sit and wait, as if it proved some kind of point to be almost dead to the world when the interview was picked up again. He would not deny that this strange habit had always been useful for the team but he'd never quite understood it, until now.

Now he was the one on the verge of exhaustion, three hours with detective Bronstrum tearing at him from all sides had drained him of the energy he'd arrived with easily but, just like all the suspects he'd observed back at NCIS, he couldn't sleep. It was stress, he supposed, and the deeply ingrained fear of not being ready for the next wave of questioning that held his eyelids open. Shaking his head and rubbing his eyes he made a mental note to find out whose bright idea this form of interrogation was and write them a congratulation note.

He'd been right about his lying ability, it was nonexistent, but stonewalling seemed to have done the job. Of course, while he didn't think Bronstrum had got anything useful from him, he was certain he had pissed him off. This, in the long run, could prove to be an unfortunate side effect but it was a price he was willing to pay in order to help his friends. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment before a noise outside the interrogation room door drew his attention. The door opened a crack and Nate forced himself to wake up as he readied himself for Bronstrum's arrival, sure that the anger he had caused the detective would make this round of questioning far worse than the last.

But it was not Bronstrum who stepped through the door and shut it quietly behind him and Nate nearly smiled in relief when he realized who it was.

"Mr. Getz," said Colby calmly.

It was not a question; Bronstrum had already made it clear that the LAPD had made a positive ID on his true identity. Unlike the rest of the team, he was not invisible.

"We're moving you to a holding cell," the detective continued, moving towards Nate and pulling out a set of handcuffs, "You can stay there until you're ready to tell us what the hell's going on."

Nate managed a glare though in all honesty it wasn't really that hard. He was genuinely frustrated by this point. Frustrated that they couldn't find Callen, frustrated that he'd been caught himself, frustrated that he hadn't been able to stop all this from happening, that he'd actually helped it happen... He sighed heavily and Colby seemed to take that as his cue to reach down and haul him to his feet, hooking his hands behind him expertly and locking them in place with the cuffs.

"Let's go," said the older man sharply, pushing him in the direction of the door.

It was only once they were out of the interrogation room and walking down the hall that Colby loosened his grip on Nate and sighed. "We need to talk," he said, all traces of calmness in his voice gone.

Nate wasn't surprised by this statement in the slightest but he did wonder how on earth Colby had managed to convince Bronstrum to let him be in charge of moving him. Of course this wasn't the time or place to start asking about the hows, so he pushed the questions from his mind and turned to look over his shoulder at the detective walking just behind him. "About what?" he asked.

"Callen." Colby slowed his pace slightly, "Did you watch the other videos I sent you?"

Nate followed the older man's lead, slowing down to match his new speed. At Colby's words he furrowed his brow and shook his head. "Other videos?" he asked, thinking back to the many boxes of information the detective had managed to get them what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Colby nodded. "Yeah, there was the one of Cal in the alley then three more," he explained quickly.

And Nate remembered. They'd been so shocked by what they'd seen and what had been happening at the time the information on Callen's past had arrived that they'd never got around to watching the rest. "We didn't get a chance to watch them," he said softly, "I went to talk to Callen again and then all hell broke loose..."

The detective sighed, picking up their speed again with a gentle push at Nate's back. "They're other videos the police have on him," he said in an almost resigned tone of voice, "But the one I wanted to talk to you about is from just after this whole murder thing would have happened... Not that I knew that at the time..."

Even if he wasn't a trained psychologist, Nate still would have heard the pain in Colby's voice. Clearly they were approaching the subject he wanted to talk about and just as clearly it wasn't going to be easy for him. He waited in silence, knowing the older man would continue if given time. He'd started this conversation after all, he would finish it, and sure enough...

"It's the security camera from a convenience store which used to be not too far from the station..." he sighed again, "Callen tried to steal some food, just a bag of chips and a water, and the owner went after him..." He shook his head. "Anyway, the point is that we, me and my then-partner, got called to the scene. We arrested Cal, we had to, and took him into custody but on the way back here he collapsed in the back of the car, went into a full seizure and spent the next month in the hospital."

They'd stopped moving now, and Nate had actually turned around to stare at Colby.

"What about the arrest?" he asked softly. He knew Callen made it okay because he was here now with no lasting injuries that he knew of, at least not from that... And besides that, he couldn't bring himself to make Colby repeat what had happened to the boy the psychologist knew the detective had come to see as a son.

"Sentenced to six months in Juvie," Colby muttered, "But only severed five, the first month in the hospital counted for jail time. I managed to do that much for him... But that's not the point, the point is that the doctor came to me one day and told me that in his professional opinion it looked like Callen had been tortured. He was beaten to within an inch of his life and nearly died a couple of times but when he came to... He was just different... He wasn't Callen anymore."

"Different how?" Nate asked, fearing the answer but knowing he needed to ask.

"He was mad at me for getting him to the hospital, for not letting him die," the detective answered sadly, "He told me that he deserved worse and wanted me to give him more jail time. He just stopped caring about anything, Nate, it was like his body had survived but his mind had died."

The psychologist bowed his head. He knew what this meant. He knew what had happened. It was the exact same thing he feared was happening now and if the look on Colby's face was anything to go by, he feared exactly the same thing. "Why are you telling me this?" he said softly, fuelled by the overwhelming urge to confirm his suspicions, "Why now?"

Colby laughed coldly. "Because he broke. Completely. I spent over a year trying my hardest to keep him alive while he was out looking for ways to die. And that just wasn't Callen. Callen didn't give up, ever. But he did, and I'm scared that it's happening again."

* * *

It was in the living room that he relieved the pressure, moved the gun from the old man's back and held it just out of reach as he'd been trained. The silence pressed at his ears as instinct took over. His eyes scanned the room quickly, checked that the windows were closed, that the doors were locked... He took it all in, every goddamn detail that hadn't changed since... Then... Since the last time... And before he could stop it the panic returned.

The weapon in his hand trembled, his breath caught in his throat and he fought to remain in control. He needed control. He needed it now. The old man was turning to face him, smirking, as though he knew... Control, control, control! But the fear wouldn't leave and he couldn't ignore it and as he looked into those eyes, those same dark, cold eyes, it took all he had not to run.

And then the monster spoke, calm and controlled as though not a thing was wrong with the world, as though his life could not end any moment... Controlled like he should be, like he couldn't be, like a person whose mind was not broken.

"I told you, didn't I Callen? It feels right."

The gun seemed to glow as both sets of eyes, the blue and the black, fell on it. But the blue looked away just as quickly as he felt the walls of his throat close in once more.

"Some agents came by, asked me all about you."

And the old man was smiling, like everything was a game, like he was nothing more than a player to be moved and changed a killed... He forced a breath, closed his eyes, tried to make the churning in his stomach disappear but the monster spoke on, almost laughing.

"I told them you're a killer, which is not at all untrue... Is it?"

He was choking now, fighting for air that wouldn't come and loosing. Badly. Killer, murderer, monster... The words tore at his insides, tore at his mind, at his soul. It had been his fault, he had pulled the trigger, he had killed Isaac. He had. No one else. He was a murdering, killing, monster. And the air returned suddenly, surging through starving lungs and the anger came with it just as fiercely. Fire burned inside him, white hot and powerful, and he raised the gun, held it firm. He was a killer, so why not? Why the hell not!? He could end this bastard, he could end the nightmare. He could end it now.

The safety clicked softly as it was removed, the sound resonating through the newfound silence. His finger wound around the trigger, his eyes narrowed and the target became a glowing point in his mind. An X because X marks the spot. Blood was rushing in his ears, his heart pounded in his ribcage and he took a breath. Then came the sound, sharp as a whip crack, loud as small explosion and he turned towards the flash and fell.

It was a feeling he knew all too well, the searing pain as metal tore through flesh and bone, as it settled somewhere deep in his gut and sent forth a leaking, pooling mass of thick blood. And he lay in it, just as he had every time before. Like a helpless child he lay watching his life drain from his body in the form of the red liquid. Then came the grey, closing in on his eyes like thick rainclouds, blocking out sound and leaving him in his own little world to die.

But even through the fog a sound caught his ears and he forced his eyes open and his gaze onto the boy in the doorway with the gun in his hands.

"Feels right, doesn't it?" he heard the monster say as he calmly forced the child from the room, leaving him with only the fog and the pain.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

Evening was coming on fast and a cool breeze danced in from the ocean, nipping playfully at any exposed flesh it passed. Shimmering above the water's surface the sun had begun its nightly journey towards the horizon casting the beginning of a pale orange glow over the shoreline. It was along that shoreline that Sam sat, leaned back on a faded old bench as he watched the day fade away slowly and it couldn't have made him more frustrated. They were coming to the end of yet another day and they were still no closer to finding his partner.

It wasn't for lack of trying, he knew that, but try as they might they still had nothing and it was the not knowing that was killing him. He didn't know where Callen was, what he was doing, if he was alright, anything. He didn't know why this was happening, who had brought Isaac's murder to the forefront or why. But mostly he didn't know what to do. He sighed heavily and leaned back his head, closing his eyes and allowing the sea breeze to calm him some before resuming his train of thought.

Hetty had told him to do what he always did, but what he always did during a case like this, when they had nothing and no idea where to go, was bounce ideas off his partner. Callen's blunt and simplistic way of looking at the world was exactly what he needed to balance out his tendency to overanalyze. But there was no balance now, no one to tell him he was thinking too much, no one to say the one simple phrase everyone needed to hear, because there was no Callen...

Opening his eyes once more he gazed around him, studying every inch of the now emptying playground he was facing. Parents were packing up everywhere, pulling complaining children towards their cars and bicycles with promises of dinner or movies when they got home. Sam sighed and smiled slightly, thinking back absentmindedly to the days when he used to have to use those same techniques to get his children home for dinner. But now was not the time to be thinking about that, now was the time to focus.

As the park emptied a single figure made her way up from the beach, the breeze blowing the odd stray curl into her face. Despite the situation Sam still took the time to admire his colleague's ability to blend in. Watching either one of his teammates transform into someone else had always fascinated him, if only because it reminded him how good his team was. But right now they need to be better; they need to save their missing piece...

He nearly growled out loud. He knew he had to stay, knew this could be their best chance at getting the information they so desperately needed but he couldn't sit still. He wanted to move, to get out on the streets and do something, anything, to find his partner. At least if he was moving he would feel like he was doing something. But he couldn't and he knew that so he focused on Kensi, studied her movements discreetly if only for something to do. She'd made her way to the now deserted swings, settled herself on to one of them and pushed off with her feet, holding on firmly to the chains in both hands. But their eyes didn't meet, there was no secret code or message passed between them and Sam found himself looking away again just as quickly, his training telling him not to risk burning his temporary partner.

His eyes wandered the park once more, settling finally on his boss, seated on another bench not too far away. Hetty had her camera out and was calmly taking photographs of the setting sun as though it was the most natural thing in the world, which, knowing Hetty it probably was. This would be the kind of thing she'd enjoy, watching the simple things that were often overlooked in their line of work.

Still, even though she seemed to be the most distracted of the three, Sam had to admit that it was Hetty who reacted first, standing up slowly and slipping her camera into her shoulder bag as another figure came into view.

"Detective Colby," she said softly when he'd reached her, gesturing for him to follow her.

"Miss Lange," the detective replied, obeying her and following her across the grass and to a picnic table facing the park.

Sam followed their lead and stood up, making his way over to the table and taking a seat next to Hetty while Kensi joined them on her other side. Detective Colby sat across from them looking tense as he glanced periodically over his shoulder.

"I gave you my number in case of emergencies," said Hetty calmly.

"I think this qualifies," Colby replied, taking a look once more over his shoulder.

Sam sighed, following the detective's gaze and seeing nothing of interest. "Look, Detective, if you're planning to tell us something..." He let the statement trail off, his frustration evident in his voice.

Hetty shifted slightly beside him. "Mr. Hanna..." she warned.

Silence pasted between them for a moment before Colby nodded. "I talked to your psychologist," he told them softly, "I wanted to get his opinion on something and, well, you need to hear it."

Kensi caught Sam's eye for a second, worry evident in her mismatched orbs.

"Nate thinks Callen may be heading for a breakdown if it hasn't already happened," Colby continued softly.

Sam felt his shoulders tense at the older man's words. He had known, known since he'd seen his partner freeze so visibly in front of the cops, since he'd seen the helplessness in his eyes, but he hadn't wanted to believe it. Callen was strong, he was a survivor, he couldn't break, he just couldn't...

"Mr. Callen has survived hardships before, Detective," said Hetty, pulling Sam from his troubled thoughts, "What makes you think he will react differently this time?"

Colby sighed as his age seemed to catch up to him in fell swoop. "I think he will react the same way he did last time," he replied, "And last time it nearly killed him."

"Last time?" Kensi asked sharply.

"When he was fourteen, when this murder would have taken place," Colby clarified. He sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face. "I never knew what had happened to him, and I guess I still don't really, but it broke him."

Sam felt his frustration slowly beginning to ebb away as it was replaced by a worry that seemed to gnaw at his insides. "What happened?" he asked softly.

Colby shook his head. "It's like I said," he sighed, "I don't really know. All I know is that there was a two month period when I didn't hear from him, didn't see him, didn't even know where he was and by that point he usually told me where his new homes were or at least if he'd changed places again. But it was like he just disappeared and when I found him again, well, it wasn't Callen..." He ran a hand over his face and sighed once more. "Miss Lange, did you bring the tapes?"

Hetty nodded stiffly and Sam got the idea she was beginning to dread what this conversation might reveal as much as he was. "I had Mr. Beal upload them to my laptop," she informed the detective, pulling the bright red piece of technology out of her bag, "I assume you'd like us to watch them?"

"If you haven't already," Colby replied.

Hetty shook her head and quickly brought up a selection of videos on her screen as Sam and Kensi leaned in closer and Colby joined them on that side of the picnic table.

"The first one," the detective instructed, pointing to the screen.

Much to his surprise Sam actually found himself holding his breath as the video began to play. It was the footage from an old security camera, he could recognize that in a heartbeat, the grainy old film which had thankfully been replaced with digital recordings made it painfully obvious. Still, even on the choppy black and white footage it was clear that the camera was keeping watch over the inside of a convenience store. The store itself was almost empty, a man could be seen behind the till reading a book of some kind and the few rows of merchandise were deserted.

"That's the owner behind the till," Colby informed them quietly.

A few more moments passed and Sam was about to make a comment about the lack of action when the door to the convenience store was pushed open and a teenaged boy stumbled in. At first Sam thought the young Callen was drunk but quickly recognized the laboured gait of someone in excruciating pain. He looked unstable, using the rows of shelves as support as he wandered through the store. The owner was watching him now, Sam could see him lower his book and follow the teen's movements closely from his place behind the till.

"What the hell happened to him?" Kensi wondered aloud.

But no one answered for just then the young Callen on the screen seemed to find what he was looking for and grabbed a bag of some form of chips off the shelve. He didn't wait to pay but rather tumbled to the ground and tore into the bag, devouring the contents as if he'd been starved for months, which, Sam realized sourly, he may have been. Clearly, however, the owner of the store didn't consider that and chose that moment to make his approach.

Though they couldn't hear the conversation Callen's reaction told them clearly that the greeting had been less than friendly. The boy froze and Sam saw him look up at the man now standing above him. He could only imagine how a frightened, injured child would feel in right about then and readied himself for the fireworks. Sure enough after only a few seconds Callen began backing up frantically, stumbling back to his feet and fighting to stay standing until his back collided with the refrigerator housing the cold drinks. The owner continued his advance clearly oblivious to how bad of shape the young boy was in and Sam had to wonder how the man could be that blind.

Apparently though, the owner could not see the fear Sam knew must have been evident on his young partner's face because he only stopped moving forward when a water bottle collided with the side of his face. Callen had pulled the refrigerator door open, grabbed the nearest available object and thrown it all the while clinging to the door handle to stay upright.

"This would be the part where the owner gave us a call..." Colby sighed.

"He called the cops over a thrown water bottle?" Kensi exclaimed, shifting to face the older man.

"Kenz,"' Sam said softly, watching as in the video the owner made the aforementioned phone call, "He sees a violent teenager, what do you expect?"

Kensi scowled but fell silent, her eyes turning back to Hetty's laptop. Sam had to admit he felt the same way she did but he couldn't let her emotions start to get the better of her. It was bad enough that his own nerves were beginning to go. Sighing he ran a hand over his head and followed Kensi's lead, looking back towards the screen.

The cops arrived within minutes of the owner's phone call, entering the store with their hands resting on their weapons ready to draw at a moment's notice. It was only whey were half way across the floor when Sam realized why one of the officers looked so familiar to him.

"That's you," he said softly, glancing at Colby.

The detective nodded sadly. "I didn't know it was Cal until I got there," he replied, "Then I went into damage control mode... Not that it did much..."

Turning back to the video once more Sam watched as the younger Colby managed to approach Callen and slip his wrists into a set of handcuffs, supporting the unstable teen with one arm as he led him from the store.

"That's it?" Kensi asked as the owner began speaking to Colby's partner.

"I wish..." Colby sighed, "The next clip comes from our dashboard cam; the LAPD was one of the first departments to start using them regularly."

Sure enough a moment later the convenience store disappeared and was replaced by an equally grainy picture of a squad car's nose moving off down the road. There was audio this time and the slightly fuzzy voices of two men emerged from the laptop.

"So you gonna tell us what you're on, Kid?" the officer driving asked.

There was a pause in which no one spoke before the driver sighed.

"Fine..." He must have turned towards Colby in the passenger seat for his next words were directed at him, "What do you think, Jared?"

"Mike, drop it. It doesn't matter, does it? He'll sober up no matter what it is and we can't question him 'til then anyway..."

"Fair enough," the officer called Mike replied and Sam could almost see him shrug.

The drive continued to a few moments before Colby's voice broke the silence which had fallen over them.

"Callen?"

They could hear him turning around quickly in his seat.

"Callen!? Shit... Mike pull over!"

"What?" Mike replied sounding confused.

"Pull over now!" Colby was shouting now and Sam found himself dreading the moment when he found out why.

The picture swerved slightly as the squad car pulled quickly off the road and a moment later they could hear the doors flying open. Colby's voice could still be heard talking more and more desperately to Callen and after a few more seconds they could see why. Colby appeared in front of the car holding Callen's limp form in his arms. He laid the teen on the ground where he began to convulse violently; his whole body bouncing off the pavement even as Colby attempted to restrain him.

"Mike! Get an ambulance! Now!"

This time Mike didn't need telling twice and they heard him radio in the car's position.

There was silence around the picnic table as the picture went black.

"What the hell happened?" Kensi asked finally, looking horrified.

Colby sighed, looking older and more worn out than ever. "Seizure," he explained, "A full blown, grand mal seizure."

"Mr. Callen has no record of seizures that I know of," said Hetty, turning around on the bench to face the detective standing behind her.

Despite the situation Sam almost smiled at his boss's comment. The little woman knew Callen's NCIS file better than even his partner did, he was sure of it. She could tell you the name and address of every foster home he'd ever lived at along with every orphanage or group home, and she could tell you how long he'd stayed at each one. She could list off medical information without hesitation, everything that had ever happened to him in the line of duty and probably more. Everything in that file she knew and though he would never say it to her face, or Callen's for that matter, Sam was sure she knew these things because like any mother the desire to protect him meant knowing everything about him.

"I know," Colby's voice pulled Sam from his thoughts, bringing him unceremoniously back to the present and into the mess their lives had suddenly become, "In all the time I've known him that's the only time I've ever seen that happen." He sighed again and moved back around to the other side of the picnic table. "The doctors could only ever guess at the cause," he continued, lowering himself on to the bench facing them, "As soon as they got him to the hospital the checked him for every drug under the sun and alcohol too but he came up clean, didn't even have aspirin in him. The only thing they could think of what that it was brought on by stress, both emotional and psychical."

"Takes a lot to do that to an otherwise healthy human body, particularly when they're that young," Sam pointed out, almost fearing the response his statement would bring.

"Yeah," Colby agreed sadly, "It never went into the file because it was just a theory on the doctor's part but he told me a couple days after Callen had been admitted that in his opinion it looked as though he'd been tortured."

Kensi opened her mouth to say something but Sam silenced her with a look. He wanted Colby to keep talking because he needed to hear this; he needed to understand what had happened to his partner. It was the only way he could ever understand what was happening now.

"It wasn't professional, or at least I didn't recognize it," the detective continued shaking his head, "And I'd worked enough of the cases people keep quiet to know the marks of pretty well all of LA's torture-for-hire boys."

"So the guy was an amateur," said Sam, receiving a glare from Kensi for doing exactly what he'd prevented her from doing and interrupting.

"No," said Colby quickly, "No, not at all. This guy knew what he was doing. Everything he did to Callen was done to cause the most pain possible without killing him. Every rib had been broken, but carefully so that pressure could be placed on them to cause pain at a moment's notice, also it probably stopped the kid from fighting back because Cal had a wicked punch on him by that point. There was nothing in his stomach and he was dehydrated though the doctors figured that was only a recent event, like since he'd run away, meaning that whoever was torturing him had no intentions of killing him, or at least not then..."

"And none of this ever went on record?" Hetty asked disbelievingly.

Colby shook his head sadly. "No, at first it was just the doctor's theory and then when he came to Callen denied everything. Told the cops he'd been in a fight. I couldn't get him to change his story and they weren't really interested in investigating it when the victim was a foster kid who'd been causing them nothing but trouble since he was eleven years old."

Sam swore softly. Of course Callen would deny it; of course he would lie to get people to leave him alone. If there was one thing he knew about his partner it was that the younger man hated getting sympathy from anyone for any reason. He could only imagine he would have been particularly against it as a child.

"And he never told you what happened to him?" Kensi asked softly.

Colby looked away at her words. "He never told me a thing. But it changed him, and the Callen I knew never came back." He took a breath and looked back towards them, self disgust evident in his eyes. "I tried to catch him," he admitted sadly, "I knew he was gonna spiral but I couldn't stop it. He went from being a sarcastic little rebel who couldn't have cared less about breaking the law to this closed off teenager who actually broke the law more often but seemed to absolutely hate himself for it every time. He stopped trying to fight back, and yet he was starting fights all the time. He got in into drugs and alcohol and basically stopped caring what happened to him. He became self destructive, started trying to kill himself, started living on the streets more and more... It got to the point where finding him passed out was normal and every night I went looking for him half expecting to find him dead."

Sam wasn't sure what he felt. A part of him wanted to be angry at Callen, wanted to smack him good and hard for being so damn stupid and letting that happen to himself but the other, larger part of his brain disagreed. Callen had been a kid; a frightened, lost child trying to survive in a world he had no reason to trust. If he didn't tell Colby what had happened to him it was probably because he couldn't, because he didn't know how and because he was afraid of admitting it was real. He'd seen that behaviour before in victims of violence, both young and old and he knew it wasn't Callen's fault, even if it still made him angry. "How long?" he asked softly, meeting Colby's eyes.

The detective sighed. "Over a year," he told them, "He was almost sixteen by the time I managed to get him into rehab."

Sam nodded and glanced from Hetty to Kensi and back again. The two women stared back at him, both of them looking as lost as he felt.

Hetty recovered first, she closed the laptop with a snap and tucked it away in her bag once more. "You are right, Detective Colby, this may well be an emergency," she told him, her professional aura right back in place as though it had never left, "If Nate told you history was likely to repeat itself then it is time we stop working in the shadows."

"Guys," said Kensi suddenly, drawing all eyes to her, "We know where Callen was when all this happened. We know he was with Kane..." She paused for a second then her eyes grew wide. "And we know there are kids there now!" she burst out, "We know there are three kids there!"

The same thought had occurred to Sam moments before Kensi had voiced it, causing his blood to run cold. All these years Marvin Kane had been allowed to continue with whatever it was he was doing to these children. "We need to be sure," he said slowly, "We need to talk to the kids, see what they say about him. If they can give us something then we have a reason to pick him up. And if we pick him up then maybe Callen will show himself. He's got to be looking for this guy too."

"I'll talk to Eric," Kensi continued, picking up where Sam left off, "See if he can track down where the boys go to school. We can talk to them there tomorrow morning so Kane doesn't get tipped off."

"Perhaps Detective Colby could do us a favour and look up any police reports involving Mr. Kane that may not have made it into the system. Reports that were never followed up, calls concerning him that were deemed to be nothing, that sort of things," Hetty suggested pointedly.

"Situations where the cops were paid off," Colby translated sourly.

"I never said that, Detective," Hetty replied.

Colby nodded and smiled wryly. "I'll see what I can do."

They all stood, Kensi stretching slightly, Hetty placing her bag back on the picnic table to refasten its clips, Colby running a hand through his hair and Sam glancing around. He wasn't sure who saw it first but Kensi caught his eye at almost the same moment he spotted movement behind a nearby tree standing between them and the beach. Without a word he looked casually towards the water then back at the woman who had become like a sister to him over the years.

Kensi didn't need any other instructions. Without warning she brought her fist smashing down on the picnic table, causing Colby to stare at her and the content of Hetty's bag to bounce slightly. "I just feel so useless!" she shouted, spinning around and marching towards to ocean all the while throwing her hands in the air. "We're not doing anything!" She had reached the sand by then and bent to pick up a stray rock, throwing it towards the water with all her might. Needless to say the rock hit the water with a particularly violent splash.

Sam had to smile. There was no one in the business who could make a scene quite like Kensi.

"Seriously!" she continued, spinning back around to face them. But her hands slipped behind her back as she did so and a moment later her whole demeanour changed as trained her gun expertly on the base of the tree. "You're gonna want to come out with your hands where I can see them."

"Now," Sam added forcefully, following Kensi's lead and approaching the tree from the opposite side, he gun also drawn.

"Alright! Alright!" came a voice and the shadowy figure of a man appeared in the fading light, his hands held above his head as instructed.

Kensi moved in swiftly from behind and disarmed him easily, pulling the untouched gun from his holster before forcing him forward. Sam held up a hand to stop them when the man was close enough and Kensi backed off, still keeping her weapon trained on his back. Behind him Sam heard Colby swear softly and silently agreed. This was the last thing they needed.

"Look," the detective said in a voice of forced calm, moving towards the man slowly and speaking only to him, "I swear, this isn't what it looks like."

"Yeah?" Detective Bronstrum challenged angrily, lowering his hands and fixing his fellow officer with a glare, "Tell me Colby, what does it look like?"

Colby closed his eyes and sighed but did not reply.

"That's what I thought," Bronstrum snarled, turning away from him and looking instead at each member of the team in turn, "Now who the hell are you people?"


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

Maybe it was the fading light, the way the darkening sunset was turning everything glowing shades of red and gold. Maybe it was the simple fact that his brain had yet to make sense of the information it had just received, but holding his gun trained on Detective Bronstrum felt oddly surreal. The weapon seemed strangely heavy and yet at the same time so light that Sam almost couldn't believe he was holding anything at all. It was as though the world around him existed on the other side of a thin sheet of film and he just couldn't seem get through. He really hoped that Kensi was thinking more clearly than he was.

Hetty was, he was sure of that much. Her mind was always where it needed to be, her emotions always in check no matter what the situation. The only one who came close to that level on control was Callen... Callen who had learned to handle anything life threw at him. Callen who never once complained about his life no matter how bad things were. Sam shook his head. Thinking about his partner would not help him now, not while everything was so unclear, so he focused instead on the man in the sight of his gun.

Bronstrum's question was simple enough, there were no tricks, no double meanings. Who were they? That was all. But he could not answer, the lies and cover stories which usually flowed so easily from his tongue seemed to have left him and he remained silent. They lied too much, all the time really. They lied to strangers, to each other, to themselves. They were all liars and maybe, just maybe, that was the reason it was becoming apparent he didn't know his best friend at all. Because after years of telling those lies they slowly became truths and the person you really were disappeared within the person you pretend to be.

It was Hetty who finally spoke, her voice clear and calm as though they were merely discussing the weather and not potentially giving away top secret information. "That is a complicated question, Detective Bronstrum," she mused softly, taking a step forward and yet staying out of her two agents' line of fire, "And one I believe is best answered elsewhere."

Bronstrum let out a snort of humourless laughter. "It's not so complicated," he argued coldly, "Tell. Me. Who. You. Are!" He stepped closer, closing the distance between himself and Hetty in one step and gazing down at her. "And if you think I'm stupid enough to let you lead me off into some godforsaken place, you've got another thing coming. If you wanna shoot me, you'll have to do it right here!"

For the life of him, Sam would never be able to explain what came over him but at Bronstrum's words something inside him snapped. Every feeling of frustration, fear, despair, hurt, and helplessness burst from him along with a hoard of other emotions he couldn't recognize or control. He raised his weapon slightly higher, blood rushing through his ears blocking out all other sounds, and pulled the trigger. The bullet whistled past Bronstrum's left shoulder in the blink of an eye, smashing into the ground behind him as Sam shifted his aim calmly so it was trained on the older man's head. The agent's breathing evened out, a calmness overtaking him for the first time since Callen had failed to pick him up what felt like a lifetime ago and he found himself smiling as his finger moved to the trigger again.

"Mr. Hanna!" Hetty scolded loudly, placing herself in front of him in one motion and fixing him with a strict gaze, "Just what do you think you are doing!? Lower your weapon this instant!"

"He said to shoot him," Sam replied, the odd calmness coming through in his voice as he continued to gaze evenly at the detective before him.

"Lower it," Hetty's voice left no room for argument but still the agent did not move.

"Sam!" Kensi shouted, adding her voice to the fray.

And finally the dark skinned man sighed, lowering his arms and flicking the safety back on his gun as frustration crept determinedly back into his mind pushing away the unnatural calm and allowing his unruly emotions free run once more. He knew, of course, that he'd just made a mistake, a massive mistake but the rush of emotions which had just caused him to see red were still clawing at his mind and he found that he didn't really care. Bronstrum had done nothing but cause them problems, hurt his partner, force him to run, threaten to shoot him, try to blame him for a murder he didn't commit... A murder he couldn't have committed...

Sam shook his head. The doubt creeping around in the back of his mind frightened him. Troubled, angry and lost as Callen may have been as a child he was certain his partner wasn't a murderer. He couldn't be... But the doubt had crept in again bringing with it memories of some of Callen's darker covers. Horrible people he'd played for the job and the things he'd had to do to prove it. He let out a frustrated growl, turning away from everyone and trying to regain his head yet somehow control managed to remain just out of his reach.

"You people are crazy!" Bronstrum seemed to have gathered his nerves at last and though Sam could no longer see him he was sure those words were directed at him, "Fucking crazy! Colby, I'll have your badge for getting mixed up with these whack jobs, you mark my words!"

Anger rose up inside Sam once more. Colby had done nothing wrong, in fact he wouldn't even be involved in this disaster of a case if they hadn't drug him into it. He turned to face the group with a growl, intent on telling the angry detective that he could shove it up his ass and leave Colby out of it when the older detective beat him to it.

"Go ahead Bronstrum, go to the chief, get my badge taken away, I don't care," he said, his voice surprisingly calm considering the situation, "I'm helping a friend and if you think my job is more important than my friendship then you have another thing coming."

"Detective Colby, there is no need to give up on your career just yet," Hetty interjected.

"It's quite alright, Miss Lange, I've been thinking about retirement anyway."

"No one's making you retire," said Sam sharply, "And certainly not because of this asshole."

"Yeah," Bronstrum challenged angrily, fixing Sam with a cold glare, "Try and stop me!"

"Enough!" Hetty's raised voice caused Sam's reply to die in his throat and he settled for returning the detective's glare instead while the tiny Operations Manager looked between the two of them. "Detective Bronstrum you had asked who we are, perhaps the answer to that question will cause you to rethink your decision to challenge us. My name is Henrietta Lange; I am an Operations Manager at NCIS." She gestured to Sam and Kensi deftly. "These are Special Agents Sam Hanna and Kensi Blye."

Bronstrum stared. Clearly whatever answer he'd been expecting to his question, federal agents wasn't it.

Hetty seemed to take his silence as a cue to keep talking for she turned to Colby and smiled kindly. "Perhaps you could begin on your assignment, Detective?" she asked calmly.

Colby nodded once, glanced briefly at Bronstrum and then, with a quick and rather grim smile in the direction of both Sam and Kensi, he was gone.

"Let me guess," said Detective Bronstrum coldly once Colby was gone, "Callen is an NCIS target as well. You guys want to get to him first and claim the arrest as your own." He laughed softly. "You've been working behind my back this whole time, haven't you?" He shook his head. "You know what I wanna know, what the hell did you offer Colby to get him on your side?"

"We didn't offer him anything," Sam forced his voice to seem calmer than he actually was, refusing to let the emotions still boiling just below the surface get the better of him again, "And Callen isn't our target, he's my partner."

"Precisely," Hetty cut in, taking over for Sam seamlessly, "And unless you would like me calling your Department Chief and telling him how you've compromised countless undercover operations in the last few days and wrongly accused and arrested a federal agent then I would suggest you give us what we want."

Bronstrum was staring again. "You... I won't..." he shook his head and growled angrily, "What do you want?"

"We would like in on your investigation, full access. We would like the armed and dangerous removed from Agent Callen's BOLO and an assurance that if you find him you will bring him in unharmed. We would like all public broadcastings of Agent Callen as a suspect to stop immediately and for you to say nothing further about this case to the press." Hetty paused for a moment seemingly collecting her thoughts before adding, "And we would like our Occupational Psychologist back." 

* * *

He wasn't cold. He knew he should be, he should be shivering, freezing... But he wasn't. He could feel warm sweat on his forehead, dribbling down his hairline and into the creases of his closed eyes. Heat seemed to radiate from him to the point where he could feel it in pulsing waves around him making his stomach churn and his head pound. It was a fever and a bad one at that but he could find it within himself to care.

Another wave of heat hit him and his stomach flipped again, causing bile to rise up in his throat and sending a sharp pain through every inch of his body. He tried to curl in on himself in a desperate attempt to reduce the pain but his movements were limited by the thick liquid weighing him down. It wasn't sweat, he knew that much and he found the bullet wound instinctively with his hands, pressed at it clumsily and gasped weakly as the pain grew still stronger.

"_G?"_

_A hand brushed across his forehead and he groaned faintly, turning his head away from the touch. _

"_Callen? C'mon kid, you gotta wake up."_

_But he couldn't open his eyes, couldn't fight the persistent grey fog which had worked its way back into his head._

"_G-Force, I'm not joking with you kid, wake up."_

He shook his head, the movement slowed by not only his own weakened state but also the floor on which his lay.

"Can't... Jase..." he mumbled.

But confusion was setting in. Jason was dead. Callen knew he was dead, he'd watched him die, felt his blood on his hands, seen him struggle to breathe until his body gave up the fight... No, Jason wasn't there, he couldn't be... His chest tightened at the thought and he curled slightly further into his ball, his hands still pressed down over the bleeding wound.

"_You really just gonna lie there until you bleed out, G?"_

He nearly sobbed at the second voice, his nerves already shot from his damaged state of his mind.

"Sam..." he groaned, shifting weakly against the cool floor and feeling rough cement on his bare arms and cheek for the first time.

He didn't want Sam here, didn't want his partner to see him like this, broken and helpless. He couldn't stand the pain he knew he'd see in the older man's eyes, couldn't stand the idea of letting him down, of failing... But he had failed. He'd let Sam trust him, he'd lied to him, he'd let his partner come to think of him as a good person when in reality – a soft sob finally escaped his lips and he felt his stomach churn once more – in reality he was the monster he'd always sworn never to become.

And suddenly he didn't want to be conscious anymore. Suddenly he found himself hoping beyond hope that a few more drops of blood would leave him and he'd be able to give in to the waves of grey fog once more but it didn't happen. The fog seemed to have faded away and though flashes of heat still washed over him every few minutes and he still caught himself retching slightly every time his stomach turned over, unconsciousness seemed just out of his reach. He almost cried out in frustration for it was so damn typical, the moment he needed everything to end it insisted on carrying on.

It was only once he had managed a few good breaths and forced himself to regain a certain level of control that he heard the noise, the unmistakable shuffling of something or someone moving nearby. Every muscle in his weakened body tensed and he swallowed down a fresh mouthful of bile as he waited for the inevitable. The monster liked his toys weak, helpless and at his mercy. But he didn't open his eyes, didn't attempt to shift into a more ready position or prepare himself to a fight there was no way his body would let him win. He simply waited, silent and helpless, for the pain he knew would come, for the last strands of control he had over his life to fall away.

But the seconds ticked by and still nothing happened. The sound flattered and faded into silence as he continued to wait, as his mind, which still refused to give in to the nothingness he so desperately craved, struggled with a fear that was moments from consuming him. His stomach turned again and he felt his breath catch in his throat as a fresh wave of heat and pain washed over him, coaxing another soft groan from his lips. And he let the sound go, couldn't even be bothered to try and silence it as he once would have for he was so damn tired of trying, tried of lying and pretending to be someone who was simply too good for him.

He sighed weakly, the slight rush of air sounding more like a whimper than anything else, and turned his head slowly in an attempt to relieve the pressure on his cheek. Everyone was too good for him. Life was too good for him. He choked back a silent sob.

"I'm sorry..."

The voice caught him off guard. Shaking and helpless it was unmistakably the voice of a child.

"Jason?" he whispered softly, a slight desperation entering his voice as he twisted his head further towards the sound, his eyes still shut tight.

"No," the voice replied, confused and just as softly as before, "My name's Matthias. I'm the one who shot you..."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

A frustrated sigh reverberated through the Ops room as Eric threw his hands in the air. "I can't find them!" he said in exasperation as he let his arms fall back down again, one of them clawing angrily at his scruffy blond hair while the other returned to the keyboard with a bang, "I don't know where else to look!"

Despite his usually cheerful demeanour the computer tech seemed to have reached a new level of frustration and he was not the only one wanting to tear his own hair out. The sentiment was shared by every other person currently watching him work. So thick was the tension in the Ops center that if someone were to have produced a butter knife they'd have been able to slice through it with ease.

"What do you mean, you can't find them?" Sam demanded sharply, fixing Eric with a tense glare. It wasn't that he was angry with Eric, (even if the jumpy look on the younger man's face told him that his tone was probably leaning towards anger,) it was just he and his mind playing the blame game again. He really needed to work on not doing that.

"I mean that for the last month not one of Marvin Kane's three registered foster children have been at school," the blonde clarified defensively, "I checked all the schools in the area and then worked my way out from there. They're not anywhere."

"How can three boys just stop showing up for class and nobody notices?" Kensi asked incredulously, shaking her head slightly as she gazed at the screen from her place beside Sam, "I mean, doesn't anyone pay any attention to them at all?"

"I believe this is an example of a situation similar to that of the little boy who cried wolf," came a voice from behind them softly. Hetty had entered the darkened room at some point while they'd been talking and as her agents turned to face her she sighed softly. "If Mr. Kane is to be believed he takes in only children who have a reputation for being runaways."

"Making them easy targets," Sam sighed heavily.

"Precisely, Mr. Hanna," Hetty replied sadly, "And because of that even their missing status does not give us cause to search his residence."

The room fell silent once more. Marvin Kane was their only lead, getting into that house, talking to him again, it was all they had and in truth they didn't even have that. They had nothing at all. They were chasing a man who had clearly thought every aspect of whatever he was doing through. Sam folded his arms dejectedly and allowed himself to start pacing the length of the Ops center. They couldn't even claim to have a true idea of what Kane was up to. It had to be something but they had no idea what.

"Wait," said Kensi suddenly, "What about the boy we met, Matthias?"

"What about him, Miss Blye?" Hetty asked, turning to face her.

"Well he hasn't run away," Kensi replied, "We know he hasn't. We just saw him there. If we can prove that he's still there and hasn't been showing up to school..."

"Didn't you ever tell your parents that you were going one place and then gone someplace else?" Eric spoke up unexpectedly, "All Kane has to do is say Matthias said he was going to school..." He looked around at the group of people now all staring at him and blinked uncertainly. "At least, that's what I would say... If I had to say anything at all... Not that I do..."

"Eric's right," Sam admitted grudgingly, effectively cutting off the computer tech's nervous rambling, "It would never get us a warrant."

"But," said Kensi desperately, "Come on, it's got to give us something!"

Sam sighed, turning away as Hetty took it upon herself to calm Kensi down. The helpless feeling which had been clawing at him on and off since Callen was arrested was back in full force and he knew it was only a matter of time before his emotions got the better of him once more. They were just so damn useless and it killed him. His partner was out there somewhere, running from the full force of the LAPD for something he didn't do and here they were, the people who were meant to be his team and have his back at all times, sitting on their asses doing nothing but arguing in circles with each other. It was pathetic.

He debated just leaving the room, walking away and heading to his favourite punching bag in order to satisfy the overwhelming urge to beat something senseless but he thought better of it. The team needed him, Callen needed him, he needed to stay in the game. "What about undercover?" he suggested in a voice of forced calm, "Go in, get a proper look around, call in the rest of the team when we've got proof there's something going on."

"And who do you propose would go in, Mr. Hanna?" Hetty asked, turning back to him, "Mr. Kane has met Miss Blye, Mr. Getz and yourself already."

"What about you, Hetty?"

To be honest Sam wasn't entirely sure how his boss would react to the suggestion but the words found their way out of his mouth before he really had the chance to think about them. It wasn't that Hetty couldn't handle herself in the field, he knew full well that she could and probably better than most still in their prime, and he knew that she would do anything to keep Callen safe but she had been retired from field work for some time now and springing it on her like that... Well it just showed how desperate they really were. Still the plan wasn't a bad one. The tiny Operations Manager wasn't nicknamed the Duchess of Deception for nothing and he knew that if anyone could get them when they needed it was Hetty.

"Sam could be right, Hetty," Kensi added softly, "Kane doesn't know you and we have to do something..."

The older woman considered the idea in silence, looking from one agent to the other calmly however before she could reply the door to the Ops center slid open.

"Tell me we have a plan." Nate didn't even wait until he was in the room before speaking. He looked like hell, his eyes were red and it was clear that Bronstrum had not gone easy on him.

"Mr. Getz," said Hetty turning to face him in mild surprise, "I did not expect Detective Bronstrum to release you so soon."

"Yeah, well, you do have a way with people," the psychologist responded tersely.

Hetty stared at him a moment, caught off guard by his tone. "Nate, are you alright?" she asked softly.

Sam had been thinking much the same thing. The younger man looked drained and stressed beyond belief and he knew that if the Operations Manager had not said anything to him, he would have. With all the worry about Callen he'd almost forgotten to consider how his other teammates were handling things.

"What? I'm fine. It doesn't matter. We have other things to worry about." But Nate was derailing, nerves coming through all too clearly in his voice. "If what Colby said is right... I've been thinking about everything. We've gotta find Callen. We've got to find him now or there might not be anything left to find..."

"Hmm," Hetty sighed, a sadness creeping into her eyes, "And if we find him broken, will be anything left of you?"

"Don't," Sam cut in sharply, "Don't say that, either of you. G's tough, he'll be fine, he has to be..."

Kensi sighed and ran a hand through her hair, clearly uneasy with the direction the conversation was headed. "Nate's right guys," she said softly, "We need to do something..."

"And we will," Hetty replied, "The plan is a good one, asset protection is part of my job after all." 

* * *

Matthias had a knife and he gave it to him, said he'd had it the whole time, said he was a coward because he'd tried to use it, because he hadn't been able to finish the job. But it was not Matthias who was the coward, it was him. He was the one who'd given in, who'd broken, who'd drug everyone he'd ever cared about into his own goddamned mess because he was too fucking pathetic to do anything on his own. And he hated himself then and he hated himself now and he found himself wishing that Matthias had aimed slightly higher and to the left because the longer he lived, the longer he would hurt everyone.

The knife pricked his finger as he curled his hand around it, held it tight as though it alone had all the answers to making the pain and the memories and the shame and hurt and useless, helpless, clawing feelings go away. And it did. They'd healed well, the old ones. Deep and thick yet not deep enough, healed to the point where only if you knew where to look would you see their faded surfaces; the marks of a useless child. And he could make them again, do it right this time, end everything. Matthias told him he wouldn't blame him, told him to do it, not to be a coward like him. But he was what he was and that was a coward, just like always, just like forever. And with the first cut, the first rush of blood, came the same old fear and he dropped the blade, just as useless as ever.

Matthias didn't sleep, was afraid to close his eyes. People did things to boys who weren't watching and he feared those things. But he had no Russian to practice, no appliances to take apart or put together, just a cold damp basement of an innocent looking shed and a fear that chilled him to the bone. And Callen had that same fear, that same desperate desire to stay conscious, but the blood pooling on the floor around him disagreed and pulled him into a sleep he did not want time and time again.

"_This is how the world works, Boy, you kill them before they kill you."_

The sleep left him suddenly, chased away by a commanding voice, a violent kick and a swirling, biting fear which chewed at his insides. And the face above him smiled, the monster, his monster, looking down at him. The man who made him, changed him, killed him...

"You know the drill, Callen." The monster smiled still wider, pulled him by the shoulder, forced him to sit up, roughly and pressed a gun into his hands. "You know how the world works. Kill or be killed. He already failed."

The cold of metal on skin tingled his fingers, burned them, forced them to curl, hold it tighter. He knew how the world worked. He knew how the world worked and it felt right. It had always felt right. To kill, to see the blood flow and know he caused it, to watch the life leave another's eyes... He flicked off the safety with trembling fingers, looked around...

Matthias was silent, knew what was coming, refused to look. Still afraid of death. Like him. Wanted it. Craved it. Needed it. But was afraid of it. Coward. Both of them. Coward, coward, coward. Grow up. Toughen up. He raised the weapon, tried to hold it steady but his hands were shaking too badly. From blood lose or from fear he could not tell but he dropped it again with a gasp. Pathetic little boy. Can't even pull a fucking trigger.

"Pick it up."

An order, not a suggestion. Do it or die. But he'd rather die. A kick to the ribcage once more, a sickening crack and the air left him. Anger hit him then, taking the place of the air, red hot and burning. And the weapon was raised again, pointed, held steady, held ready. And the monster smiled.

"Going to shoot me, Callen?" A mocking tone, laughing at him.

"Yes." He answered weakly, desperately tried to believe but his hands trembled once more.

"Do it then, you fucking little coward. Kill me. Shoot me! Become what you really are! Kill the only person who will ever understand you! Make yourself into a killer, Callen. Do it!"

But the pain was too much for him to bear, coursing through his body in waves. The wound in his stomach bled on, pooling still faster around him as his heart beat out of his chest and his eyes fluttered as the darkness crept in. With a soft sob the anger left him and he slumped backwards once more, felt his back hit the wall and the air leave him again as the weapon fell from his grasp. And he knew what was coming even before it did so he closed his eyes and bowed his head for he deserved every second of it.

The monster laughed, tipped his head back and laughed and laughed and laughed. And Matthias buried himself in the corner and looked away while Callen waited, unmoving and silent, for the opening blow. It came, just as it always had, to the right, followed by one to the left, then right, left, right, left, right, left... Until he could breathe no more. Ribs were broken, some of them, maybe all of them, he just couldn't tell and truthfully didn't care. His eyes were open now, his vision faded, hazy and clouded with grey but still he could see and what he saw was a smile on the face of the man who had knelt before him, who reached towards him, grabbed at a rib, a broken one, and pulled.

_The scream tore from his throat before he could stop it, not that he could have if he'd tried. The last of his oxygen released in the form of an anguished cry. It was a pathetic reason to die. _

"_Stop it, you bastard! Leave him alone!"_

_The pain ceased immediately, or rather it stopped increasing at an unbearable rate and evened out at the level it was. Still he crumpled to the ground with a gasp and let his arms find his chest and wrap themselves around it protectively as he shook uncontrollably, fighting to stay conscious. Because he had to protect them, had to stop what was about to happen, had to do something... So he moved, rolled painfully on to his hands and knees, feeling bile rise up in his throat with each movement and watching stars dance before his eyes. _

_It was Damon who'd spoken. It always was. The damn kid couldn't keep his bloody mouth shut sometimes. Isaac, at least, seemed to understand that the best thing he could do was stay quiet, keep himself safe... Or maybe he was just too scared... Either way Callen preferred that to Damon's attempts to save him any day. He looked around him desperately, fighting the dizziness threatening to cause him to throw up and the pain that was moments from pulling him into unconsciousness while he search for something, anything, to put the monster's attention back on him but there was nothing._

_Swearing weakly under his breath resigned himself to doing the only thing he could think of. Stumbling to his feet and swaying dangerously he managed to grab the monster by the shoulder, used it to stay standing while he waited for the man to turn around. And he did, with a flash of anger in his eyes and a growl in his throat and Callen acted, gritted his teeth and gave him a quick shot to the groin with all the strength his battered body had left. It worked. With a howl of rage the man punched him hard across the face before throwing him violently to the ground._

_Callen heard more than felt his head hit the floor, felt more than heard a door open and shut, barely realized his eyes had slid closed... _

"_Callen? Callen, wake up!"_

"_Wha? What happened?" he slurred slightly, fighting to get his eyes opened and blinking the cobwebs away._

"_He just left," Damon replied, bending carefully over him and placing a hand gently on his shoulder to prevent him from moving. "Just left and didn't even lay another hand on you..."_

_A creak reached their ears, someone coming upstairs._

"_He's comin' back," Callen murmured weakly, "You and Isaac get in the corner, stay there, and don't say anything."_

"_He'll kill you..." Damon whispered hoarsely, gripping his shoulder tightly._

"_Better me than you. Go."_

_And they went, both of them, Damon glancing over his shoulder at him and Isaac trying not to as they left him alone, again. With a crash the door opened once more and the monster returned in a hail of curses and threats and fury, in his hands a single gun, loaded a ready. _

"_For your actions someone will die today," he hissed softly, fingering the weapon carefully._

_And maybe it was the concussion, or the countless broken ribs, or the cracked wrist or bruised organs or lack of food and water and sleep, or maybe he was just an idiot but the words didn't make it to his head in time and he spoke without really thinking, three fateful words. _

" '_Bout fucking time."_

_Laughter. That was all that met his words, cold, hard laughter. And he realized then what he had done, what he had said, everything. Suddenly he couldn't breathe, and if he'd had the strength he'd have run right then but he didn't so he simply lay prone at the monster's steel toed feet. Helpless. Stupid, stupid, stupid..._

"_I said someone, you dumb shit, not you."_

_His blood seemed to turn to ice in his veins, his heart rate quickened and he tried desperately to move as the man who was supposedly their father walked calmly to the corner of the room and returned dragging a terrified Isaac with him. It was then that the panic hit him, then that he started struggling to sit up, to crawl, anything. Because he couldn't let this happen, couldn't let this innocent little boy die because of his stupidity. But the pain was too much and he collapsed each time nearly crying in desperation as the monster pressed the gun to his foster brother's chin._

"_No!" he cried out helplessly, "You sick son of a bitch, he never did anything!"_

_The man paused, seemingly considering his words and Callen saw a twisted smile appear on his face._

"_You're right," he said softly, leaving Isaac to stand in the middle of the room, trembling helplessly, while he bent down to the level of the broken boy on the floor. "But you did." With another wicked smile he pulled Callen to his feet, pressed the gun into his hands and pointed to Isaac's frozen frame. "You do it."_

_Callen's breath was coming in short gasps now. The pain caused from standing up was rendering him almost blind and the gun trembled weakly in his hands. "No," he whispered, "I won't do it."_

"_Of course you will, Callen, it's what you're meant to be." The voice was in his ear now, the monster speaking softly, moving from side to side, back and forth, back and forth, whispering... "Why do you think I had to back here all these times? Did you think I liked you?" A cold laugh. "You're a killer, Callen, you are, you just need to let go. You know this feels right, the weight of it, the cold... He's nothing to you, he's no one. He doesn't matter." And he plucked at a broken rib casually, held the boy's shoulders as be buckled from the pain. "You want this to end, Callen?" Another pluck, another buckle. "You want me to stop? You want the pain to be finished, forever?" A slight jab and a stifled gasp. "Callen... I'm waiting... What is it going to be? Kill or be killed. That's how the world works, Callen. You know that. You want it to stop, you stop it. It's your call, Callen..."_

_But the next pluck did it. With bile in his mouth, fog in his eyes and a calmly hypnotising voice in his ear he saw red, felt a rush pass through him and acted on the only course left to him. He pulled the trigger. Once, twice, three times, and Isaac fell to the ground, Callen falling with him. _

"Callen... Callen... Callen..."

His name rung in his ears, swirling and twisting and pushing its way through his head and he could not stop it. And a face was looking down at him, and the voice kept talking and it was loud and crowed and nothing made sense anymore. He was falling and drowning and burning and ripping all at the same time. And he felt everything and nothing at all.

But the face moved closer and a hand appeared and it reached towards him, grabbed his shoulder... And he looked up at the face, his face, a monster's face, staring down at him and he panicked. With that panic came the red and with the red came the blood and the blood was everywhere, on his hand, on the knife... The face looked shocked, backed up, looked down. The eyes changed, grew darker, the skin did the same, the shoulder grew wider, the arms more muscled but the blood stayed the same.

And as their eyes met again the face had a name and Callen stopped breathing altogether as horror flooded through him.

"Sam..." he whispered helplessly, "Oh god..."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

The knife had come out of nowhere, though if he was being completely honest with himself, Sam knew he hadn't really taken the time to look over the situation before approaching. He should have moved more slowly and he knew it, should have taken the time to tell Callen who he was, what he was doing, but the sight of his partner crumpled and bleeding against the wall had pushed all logical thought from his mind. The moment G's eyes had opened, however, he'd known something was wrong. The fear swirling in the fevered blue orbs was more primal, more intense than any he'd ever seen before and he knew, a split second before the knife met his flesh, that Callen had no idea who he was.

The wound wasn't that bad, just a good shot to the upper arm, but the shock of it caused him to back off and clasp a hand over the opening to stem to blood. Callen had stabbed him. Callen had really had stabbed him, he didn't know who he was... Fear coursed through him as the realization set in that Colby and Nate had been right, that he had been wrong... Callen was broken. He was brought back to reality, suddenly, by his partner's broken whisper. The raw, unguarded pain in his voice and the horrified, helpless look on his face were enough to make his own injury become all but irrelevant.

"G..." he said softly, moving slowly towards the younger man once more.

But Callen tensed, flinched away from him and whimpered slightly, pressing himself against the wall behind him in fear. "I killed you..." he gasped, horror making his eyes go wide, "I didn't mean it, I didn't want to..." His voice broke and he shook his head weakly, turning away and pulling his arms around his chest in a protective gesture, the knife still glinting in his hand.

Sam felt a lump rise up in his throat. This couldn't be happening, it just couldn't be... "I'm not dead, Callen," he said, desperate for his best friend to understand, desperate to see his usual smirk take its place on his face, desperate for a joke, a sarcastic remark, anything.

But nothing changed. Callen continued to shake his head with his eyes closed, muttering softly to himself.

"G, I'm right here. I'm fine. You didn't really hurt me, it's okay..." he spoke as calmly as he could, tried valiantly to get through to the terrified man even though he knew the words were just bouncing off his partner without really sinking in.

"Mr. Hanna..."

Hetty had appeared behind him, some indistinguishable emotion shinning in her eyes while Nate and Kensi followed her slowly. But they were getting too close too quickly and Sam heard Callen's breath catch as he opened his eyes fearfully.

"Stop," the older agent ordered sharply, holding up one hand to emphasize the point, "You're scaring him, back off."

"Scaring him? But – what?" Kensi looked nothing short of lost, "No we're not. We can't be..." She looked to Nate but got no response, in fact the psychologist looked almost as horrified as Callen, his gaze fixed on the trembling agent.

"Mr. Hanna, you're bleeding, let the paramedics take a look at you," said Hetty softly.

"I'm not leaving him!" Sam's voice was fiercer than he intended but he meant every word. He would not leave his best friend alone, not now, not ever again. He took a breath and forced himself to calm down slightly before continuing. "Besides," he added, "They'll never get close to him on their own..."

Hetty pursed her lips and Sam saw her eyes find the knife clutched in her favourite agent's hand. "Very well," she conceded, her voice regaining its usual business-like tone, "Mr. Getz, Miss Blye, if you would both go make certain Matthias is properly cared for."

"But Hetty!" Kensi argued desperately, "Callen needs us – "

"And you don't think young Matthias needs someone?" Hetty cut across her calmly, "Take care of him, Miss Blye."

Kensi didn't look convinced but Nate, who had yet to say anything at all, led her slowly from the damp cellar ignoring her complaining the whole way.

Sam didn't watch them leave, in fact he'd turned away from his team the moment Hetty had given in to him staying and the only reason he had any idea that Nate and Kensi had left was that Callen's breathing even out ever so slightly. But it wasn't much, the fear was still in his eyes, his mouth was open and breathing was clearly still a difficult task for him. Preparing himself for the worst, Sam moved forward again watching for any sign that his partner would allow the approach.

"No..." Callen whispered hoarsely, but even as he cowered away from the movement something in his eyes changed and the blade flashed again as he jerked it towards Sam, "Get away from me!"

And the dark skinned man did just that, backing off once more and fighting down a wave of emotions he couldn't even begin to identify. For the first time in year he had to overwhelming urge to just sit down and cry because he had no idea what else to do. He couldn't help his partner, he didn't know how.

"Mr. Hanna?" Hetty's voice had lost its usual calm and collected tone sounding now as though it was laced with a desperately repressed worry, "May I?" She gestured towards Callen sadly.

Sam nodded before he even knew what he was doing, backed away from his partner once more and sat down on the cold, damp floor. He couldn't keep trying, it was killing him each time, eating away at his heart as he watched the man who had become like a brother to him fight against his own mind. Hetty was a new face, she was smaller, and she was a woman so maybe... But he couldn't bring himself to believe it and didn't look up as the Operations Manager tried what he'd now failed to do one too many times, staring instead at that blood dribbling slowly down his injured arm. The arm Callen had stabbed. The arm his best friend had stabbed...

He could feel unshed tears forming in his eyes but gathered what was left of his self control and pushed them away. He couldn't fall to pieces now, not when Callen was like this, not when the case had reached its climax. He was needed here, all here, no matter what he felt inside.

"Sam," Hetty's voice pulled him back to reality with a crack because there was a sharpness to it that could only mean trouble.

Scrambling back to his hands and knees the agent made his way slowly towards his boss and best friend. Hetty had made it to Callen's side, taken the knife from him and now held both his hands in hers with his wrists up. There was blood everywhere, more so than he had noticed before and he could make out a bullet wound in the younger man's stomach which may or may not have been the cause of his extremely laboured breathing. But it was his wrists which drew his attention first, the uneven slashes across them still seeping blood freely and bringing a fresh wave of horror to the forefront of Sam's mind. His partner wouldn't do that. He wouldn't give up...

"G," said Hetty softly, in a tone of voice comparable to that which a mother might use while comforting a frightened child, "Sam is going to stay with you for a moment, alright? I need to run and get something."

Callen's blue eyes moved from Hetty to Sam and back again before he nodded once, a flash of determination finding its way onto his face.

"Good," the tiny woman smiled, squeezing his hands slightly before turning to face her other agent, "Mr. Hanna, watch over him."

Sam made his way forward for what felt like the hundredth time since he'd first laid eyes on his partner's broken body and this time, finally, he was met with no resistance. Carefully he stopped his approach next to Hetty and reached out his hands, taking Callen's gently as their boss stood up.

"I'll return with the paramedics," she informed Sam softly, "Keep him conscious."

But the older agent wasn't listening. His sole focus now was on his partner, his best friend, the man who had closed his eyes and turned his head to the wall the moment Hetty had left his side. Sam tried not to be hurt, Callen was scared, he was lost in his own head and he wasn't thinking straight, but he couldn't miss the way the fevered blue eyes could not even meet his face. It was painful, no matter what he tried to tell himself and he felt the tears rising in his own eyes once more.

"I'm sorry..."

The fractured whisper caught him completely off guard and he stared down at the younger man, trying to understand. "Sorry for what, G?" he asked as gently as he could, "You have nothing to be sorry for."

For a moment it didn't seem that Callen would respond, but after several long seconds his eyes slid opened and found their way to his partner's face, staring at it as though he was afraid that at any moment it would disappear. It was only then that Sam got a good look at him, only then that he noticed the way the younger man's eyes fluttered every few seconds as he fought to keep them open or the sheen of sweat coating his unnaturally pale face which was mixed with blood in some places as though he'd been lying in it at.

"You weren't real before," he explained softly, his voice trembling as though he was afraid of his own words, "I wanted you to be, but you weren't. You and Jason and Isaac and Damon... But you all left, and he didn't, because you weren't real, any of you..." His eyes were rolling back in head now, an odd pained expression twisting his face and he was trembling slightly.

Sam didn't know what he felt, not that there was anything new about that, he hadn't been able to decipher his feelings for the past few days, but this was taking it to a whole new level. He hadn't been real... Did that mean Callen had been seeing hallucinations of him? That could explain the fear if G thought he was just another ghost... But he knew he couldn't ask for clarification, the best he could do right now was try to bring his friend some comfort, if that was even possible. "I am real, G. I am, this time, I promise," he said raising his good arm to grip his partner's shoulder, "I'm not going anywhere."

There was a pause before Callen looked away again. "Everyone always leaves..." he murmured weakly.

Before he even had a chance to reply the older agent was interrupted by the sound of footsteps descending towards them. Hetty had returned, a group of paramedics on her heals who wasted no time, upon entering the cellar, in making a beeline towards their patient.

"No!" said Sam quickly, but it was too late.

Callen's breath caught at the sight of them and he lashed out, fighting his partner's hands off him and curling himself tighter against the wall, shaking with fear.

"G," Sam almost groaned, holding up a hand to stop the paramedic's approach and he reached towards his friend with his bad arm, "G, it's okay. They're not coming any closer."

But Callen was beyond reason once more, any traces of recognition that had returned to him vanished instantly and nothing but primal fear took their place. He struck Sam's outstretched hand away and slid further down the wall leaving smears of blood in his wake. One of the paramedics made a move forward but froze at the look on the injured man's face. Then, quite suddenly and without warning, Callen jumped violently and let out a yelp of pain. Hetty stood behind him, having approached while he was preoccupied with the crowd in front and pushed a needle into the flesh of his upper arm.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Callen," she said softly as he slumped against the wall, his eyes sliding closed. Stepping away she bowed her head and motioned for the paramedics to begin their work.

Sam was stunned. "You doped him," he said finally, staring at her.

Their ever calm and collected Operations Manager looked up and for the first time he noticed the tears in her eyes as well. "Oh, Mr. Hanna," she said sadly, "I could not stand to see him like that anymore than you could. At the very least he is peaceful this way." Collecting herself once more she made her way to the stairs which led to the world above before turning back. "Come, there is nothing more you can do here."

"Hetty," the dark skinned agent argued desperately, "I told you, I'm not leaving him!"

"Sam," and just like that his boss's voice was trembling slightly, the composure she had just regained slipping away again, "There is nothing we can do for him here. Nothing."

There was no questioning the fact that she was right, of course, there never was. What Callen needed right now neither one of them could give. Nodding stiffly Sam gestured for Hetty to lead the way and the two of them made their way slowly out of the cellar.

Kensi and Nate were waiting for them, the former with her arms folded impatiently across her chest and a worried look creasing her brow and the latter standing silently beside her looking forlorn. The sun was shining brightly above their heads and Sam almost wished it would go away, things like this weren't meant to happen in the afternoon sun, they were meant to happen in the dark, in the rain, where everyone was already miserable.

"Where is he?" Kensi asked sharply the moment she saw them, hurrying to meet them.

"Paramedics are with him," Sam replied gloomily, immediately berating himself mentally for showing such behaviour in front of the resident psychologist.

But if Nate noticed anything he didn't let on, standing next to Kensi once more he let his eyes wander to the grass at their feet without a word.

"But why aren't we with him!?"

"Kenz, stop."

And with those simple words she seemed to understand, her eyes growing wide as her mouth opening and closing slightly as she stared at the man who had become like a brother to her. "What do we do?" she asked finally, her voice turning soft.

Sam sighed. He knew the answer. Hetty was right, there was nothing they could do for Callen here but they could do something for him. "The case," he said firmly, taking control of his emotions once more, "We finish the case and we burn that sonofabitch in hell for what he did." And that was all they could do, get revenge for their teammate and hope to hell things worked out.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

The boathouse was silent save for the gentle lapping of the ocean outside but it was by no means deserted. Everyone was there, from Sam to Hetty, sitting around the table as they kept watch over the interrogation room by means the monitoring screen before them. Marvin Kane sat calmly facing the camera with his hands folded in his lap and the same smile playing on his face that had been there since Hetty had cuffed him and given the order to search his house more than an hour ago. He couldn't have looked more at ease.

It was not a feeling shared by the four government employees watching him. Sam could feel his blood pressure rising as anger coursed through his veins mixing with the fear and confusion which had been there for some time. They were so close, so damn close, and while Hetty seemed to thinking giving everyone a moment to get their wits about them before commencing the interrogation was a good idea it was only serving to put him more on edge. They should be tarring this guy apart, ripping every secret he had out into the open and finding out what the hell he'd done to Callen, both this time and before. They should be breathing down his neck for a confession, baiting him until he snapped and gave them something to prove his partner was innocent...

"If we can get him to tell us what he did to Callen then we might be able to help him," said Nate suddenly, speaking for the first time since they'd entered Kane's cellar and cutting off Sam's train of thought. His voice sounded strong and a certain level of determination had returned to his eyes.

"And if he doesn't?" Kensi asked, voicing the same fear that had entered Sam's head at the psychologist's words.

"He will," Hetty cut in, effectively ending the discussion before Nate's newfound spark could be extinguished once more.

Sam looked around at his team and allowed the determination shinning in every one of their faces pushed some of the uncertainty from his mind even if he knew that like him, they were all wearing a mask. Hetty's hid the fear of losing her family, Nate's hid the guilt which was still weighing him down, Kensi's hid anger ready to burst from her at a moment's notice and his, well he wasn't completely sure. He shifted his injured shoulder uncomfortably, feeling a sharp pain beneath the bandage Hetty had applied upon their return to headquarters. There was so much they still didn't know...

"I can't sit here anymore," said Kensi, standing up abruptly, "He's been sitting there long enough, let's take a crack at him already!'

Hetty opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by the boathouse door, which swung open as Kensi spoke. "Detective Colby," she greeted, turning to him instead and sounding surprised, "You heard then."

The detective nodded stiffly as he entered the room, his face and eyes looking as tired and drawn as any member of the team. "Yeah, well actually the whole precinct heard, Bronstrum wasn't all that pleased when he found out you got him..."

"Well that's his loss, isn't it?" said Kensi coldly, but fell silent at a look from Hetty.

"So..." said Colby after a moment, breaking the strained silence which had fallen over them, "How's Callen?"

Sam sighed heavily and ran his good hand over his face at the reminder of his best friend's state. "Not so good," he admitted, working to keep his voice as even as possible, "The docs say he'll be fine but..." He let the sentence trail off, unable to say outright that everyone's worst fear had become reality.

The detective smiled wryly and shook his head. "Dammit," he said softly.

Silence overtook them again until Hetty followed Sam's lead and heaved a small sigh. "So why are you here, Detective?" she asked, "I would have thought you'd be with Mr. Callen at the hospital."

Colby moved towards the nearest chair and took a seat, resting his elbows on his knees before speaking. "Because I have to know," he replied softly, sadness lining every inch of his face, "Callen could never tell me, I've gone all these years without a clue in hell what happened to him... I just can't pass this up."

Sam nodded without really realizing it. He could understand what Colby felt, the overwhelming need to understand what his friend had gone through all those years ago, if only to be able to look back at the reaction and know why it happened. It must have been horrible watching Callen's world spiral out of control without any idea what caused it. It was painful enough watching it now...

"Very well," Hetty's voice cut into his thoughts, "I can't allow you to partake in the interrogation yourself..."

"No, no, I understand that," said Colby quickly, forcing a fake smile, "I just need to hear it, that's all."

The Operations Manager gave a single nod and stood up, turning to face the team. "Mr. Getz, if you could remain here with Detective Colby, I'd like a reading of Mr. Kane from the outside. Mr. Hanna, Miss Blye, come with me."

The short walk to the interrogation room door felt like it took an hour to complete and opening it Sam felt a surge of emotions the likes of which he'd never experienced before. In one moment he wanted to attack the man sitting before them and tare him limb from limb, he wanted to sit down and listen to whatever explanation would come, he wanted to run from the room and never look back, he wanted to scream at him, cuss him out, beat his head in, beg him to talk, never be forced to see his face again... He wanted to understand, he wanted to kill, he wanted to run... He wanted his best friend back.

But he let none of that show, not as he entered the room, not as he set down Hetty's chair across from Kane, and not as he and Kensi took their places standing silently in each corner behind their boss. No one said a word. Kane, for one, seemed curious and he watched calmly as Hetty settled herself into her seat, an infuriating and all knowing smirk playing at his lips much like the one that Callen –

But Sam stopped the thought there. Callen was not like this guy, whatever the old man was.

"Mr. Kane," said Hetty, her professional aura back in place and pulling Sam from his thoughts much to his relief, "Do you know why you're here?"

"Not particularly," the man replied calmly, "You see, you told me that you were conducting a survey of property values in the area, one orchestrated by the city and had the papers to prove it. "

It was Hetty's turn to smirk now, and she did so looking quite dangerous. "What I told you is irrelevant," she said in the same measured tone as before, "You invited me into your home, the blood was in plain sight – "

Kane scoffed. "You got yourself invited under false pretences," he argued pleasantly, "And if there was any blood it most certainly was not in plain sight."

"And yet, I saw it with no searching required," the Operations Manager sighed.

"Yes, but you certainly searched after you thought you saw it," said Kane coldly.

"Once reasonable cause had been established then yes, we did," Hetty nodded, "And what we found is the reason for this little discussion."

"And that would be what exactly?" the old man asked in a bored tone of voice.

"Bodies," Sam cut in, unable to remain silent any longer, "Those two boys you told us were 'out at friends'? We found them murdered in your cellar, they'd been shot in the chest. You wanna tell us how that happened on your watch?"

"Again," Kensi added, "Because it seems you failed to notice when Isaac Harwood was murdered as well."

"I told you last time," Kane sighed, still looking remarkably calm, "I take in children who have a tendency to – "

"Run away, yes we know," said Hetty, taking over the interrogation once more, "Very hard to keep track of, aren't they?"

"Very hard," Kane agreed.

"They're not necessarily good children, after all, some must be downright nasty – "

A humorous laugh burst from Kane at that moment, cutting Hetty off mid-sentence. "I'm not some whack job you can trick like that," he said, subduing his laugh to mere chuckles, "And do you know what, I've noticed I've not yet been offered a lawyer..."

Sam nearly growled out loud but managed to stop himself. If Kane lawyered up now they'd never get the answers they wanted out of him and they needed those answers. They needed them to finish the case, and more importantly they needed them to help Callen...

But Hetty seemed unconcerned. "Do you require one?" she asked calmly.

Sam braced himself mentally. This was it, the interrogation was over and they weren't going to get a thing out of it. How the hell was Hetty so calm?

But Kane surprised him. The smirk was back as the old man shook his head. "No," he said cheerfully, "I rather suspect it would be a waste of money anyway."

"It would," Hetty agreed softly.

Kane nodded. "That's what I thought." With an almost content sigh he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. "I've been lucky, I suppose, that this has not happened sooner."

"Every run must come to an end, Mr. Kane," Hetty told him sagely, "And yours has."

"Is this the part where you offer me a deal?" Kane asked, tilting his head slightly to one side.

"No," Hetty replied coldly, "This is the part where you answer our every question."

As Kane gave his boss yet another cocky smile Sam found his heart beating harder than it should have been. The old man seemed to be giving himself up with very little fight, it was far too easy and it worried him. There was no reason for it. If Kane had kept his mouth shut he'd have had a chance of getting off. None of this made any sense. If it had been anyone else Sam would have said that it was just a slip up, but it wasn't, it couldn't be...It was almost as though Kane had steered the conversation to this point, and Hetty had let him.

But while he feared where this line of questioning may go, his need to know what had happened in that cellar was overwhelming so he kept his thoughts to himself and focused instead on the exchange before him.

"Ask then," said Kane softly, still smiling easily.

It was the smile which broke down Sam's resolve to stay silent and he spoke before he could stop himself, glaring at the man before him with the deepest of hatred. "Why are you so willing to give yourself up, Kane? Tell me that. What's in this for you?"

"Mr. Hanna..." said Hetty warningly, turning to face him.

"No, no," Kane laughed, "Mr. Hanna has a point. I would have to be some major kind of idiot to have been fooled into talking by your questions so far and while I have no doubt that you would have proven a great adversary as time went on and may well have broken me at some point I decided to save us all the trouble and end things on my terms." Leaning forward slightly he rested his elbows on his knees and gazed up at them calmly. "And truthfully," he continued, "I do enjoy causing people a certain level of pain and you three happen to know G Callen, I can see it in your faces, your little masks all cracked and hanging on desperately... I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't looking forward to your expression as my tale progresses. Besides all that I've been looking for a new challenge from some time now, perhaps prison will offer up more souls in need of... Modification..."

"What the hell does that mean?" Kensi snapped from her corner of the room, not even bothering to hide the anger in her voice.

"It means that people are frail creatures," Kane explained calmly, smiling up at Kensi as though they were two friends having a pleasant conversation about nothing, "Our minds break so very easily and once they do you're left with a sort of putty which can be shaped easily whatever way you'd like."

"So you like to hurt people," Sam cut across him, fighting to keep his voice even, "You're just some freak who likes to beat on children until they snap."

Kane chuckled softly. "Hardly," he scoffed, "What I do is an art. It takes time and patients and practice, it's certainly not the mindless violence of most the pigs you meet. It has purpose and cause. It has an objective."

It was Sam's turn to scoff now. "Bullshit," he snapped, "You like to hurt people, that's all there is to it."

"While I will not deny that I do take a certain pleasure from watching another human being writhing at my feet, it is not the sole reason that I do what I do," the old man told him evenly, "I'm not in it for the violence, I'm in it for the money."

"The money, Mr. Kane?" said Hetty, the calmness in her voice silencing both Sam and Kensi who had opened their respective mouths to say something.

Kane nodded. "Yes. There are a vast number of groups and individuals both in this country and abroad who are willing to pay very high prices for a specific type of child. One who can kill. One who does whatever if asked of them without question. One nobody will miss..."

"Child soldiers," Sam said softly, feeling his blood run cold as horrible visions of his best friend clutching a gun and fighting an enemy he didn't even know floated around his head.

"That's right," Kane confirmed lightly, "Of course not your run-of-the-mill, hop them up on something, give them a gun and see how long it takes them to blow up, child soldiers. The ones I produce are of a much higher quality, hence the price and the demand. Each one is broken down complete then built back up into the perfect little soldier, void of any emotion, unable to do anything with their lives but take orders and very hard to kill. They are an investment, most serve well into adulthood before the unfortunate side effect of insanity takes hold and they must be disposed of."

"You turn children into murderers?" said Kensi quietly, horror lining her face as she stared at the man before them, "For money?"

"I think it would be more accurate to say I turn children into robots," he said corrected thoughtfully, "Murderers do it for the fun, a truly successful child of mine does it because there is no other course left to them. It is what they are."

"How do you do it?" Hetty asked, her voice just as quiet as Kensi's.

"Why? Going to try and save your little friend Callen with this information?" Kane mocked, smirking once again.

"How?" Hetty repeated forcefully and the old man sighed.

"Fine," he said calmly, "My methods vary slightly from child to child depending on what will break them most easily. When a new child arrives those already in my care are given a gun and asked to kill the new arrival, should they fail the roles are reversed and the new arrival is given a shot. Should all the children fail they are subjected to as much physical and mental torture as I deem appropriate. Some snap under the physical pain and demand a chance to take the shot, they are the easiest but also tend to be the cheapest, the poorest quality. Some demand the shot out of fear before a hand has even been laid on them, they tend to give in to the transformation themselves. Boring, but ultimately effective. Some require mental tortures, watching their newfound friends being beaten and the likes. Callen was one of those." He paused and smiled at the looks ranging from shock to horror on the faces of the three people listening to his tale before continuing. "It has always been a great regret of mine that I did not finish the job with him. Callen would have been worth more than any child I'd created before. He had a natural darkness to him, a knack for violence which would have been perfect had I honed it right."

"You'd never have got it right, you old freak, Callen's too tough for you," Kensi hissed, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Sam's heart was in his throat now, his breathing as uneven as his partner's had been back in the cellar. Kane hadn't succeeded. There was no way he had. But even as he told himself that memories of the horrible people Callen had played while undercover worked their way into his head, murderers, abusive boyfriends, soulless killers-for-hire ... They had all done it, it was part of the job, but his partner was the best at by far.

"But I did hone it right," Kane laughed softly, pulling Sam from his thoughts, "Or at least well enough that he shot his own friend. I did not kill Isaac Harwood, nor did I kill the two boys you found in my cellar. Matthias killed them, and Callen killed Isaac. Took every shot himself, I just gave him the gun. That's murder and he knows it."

"You son-of-a-" Kensi started, taking a step forward furiously.

"But he got away from you," Sam cut across her, moving closer from his side of the room as well, "He was still too strong for you, even after everything!"

Kane was actually laughing, leaning back in his chair and laughing. "Yes, he did, didn't he? I'd have never have thought the boy had it in him to run, physically or mentally, but he was always a stubborn one. Made him more fun. Why do you think I asked for him back all those times?"

Sam could hear the blood rushing in his ears, Kensi was pale but anger seemed to resonate from her and Hetty had stood up sometime during Kane's last speech.

"We're done," the Operations Manager said softly, yet with a dangerous snap that ended all arguments before they began. She led Sam and Kensi towards the door purposefully pausing only when Kane spoke once more.

"The stomach wound should not be fatal, the ribs are certainly not, but his mind..." he smiled nastily, "I just have to wonder how long it will be before he takes his own life? Or worse, how long before he becomes me?"

* * *

It was the beeping which woke him, the rhythmic pattern prodding away at his senses until he was forced to acknowledge it. Even so, he couldn't find it within himself to care all that much even if each sharp ping sent pain radiating through his head. Maybe, if he listened long enough and let the pain take him over the silence would return and swallow him once more. He did not know where he was, nor did he care to find out, his sole thought was of how to disappear once more.

He was happy in his darkened world, without people or faces or names or memories. He was happy without anything at all, happy being nothing and surrounded by nothing. He was calm too, breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out. Over and over again, in time with the beeping. Easy. Controlled. Everything could be ignored, nothing mattered and even less was real. Only the darkness, warm and safe.

Another beep, slightly louder than the rest, cut through his head bringing with it another flash of pain and the rhythm changed, grew faster and louder. Callen groaned, his own voice catching him off guard, and turned away from the sound. There wasn't supposed to be pain here. The darkness was soft, it didn't hurt... But this did, this burned a path through his head as though it was on fire, made heat rise in his face, made shivers pass through his arms...

And the shiver made something move, in the crock of his elbow, like before, every time, a tweak, a slight pull... Fear flooded him, consumed him, twisting, curling and tarring at him from the inside. Light blinded him as his eyes tore open, pain exploded in his chest and he cried out, unable to control it. The beeping was a shrill whistle now, voices rang out around him, footsteps, shouting, screaming... He couldn't understand it, couldn't see for red and stars and burning light, couldn't hear for noise and pain filled voices, couldn't breathe for pain...

He twisted, fought as hands attempted to pin him down, chocked as the pain in his chest became unbearable and finally, finally, got one hand free. He clawed at his elbow viciously, dug and scratched and pulled at it desperately until he felt the needle come free, until he'd tossed it across the room with what little strength he had left, until he was sure the poison was no longer entering his veins. He couldn't do that again, not after last time.

"Agent Callen," came a voice from above him, distant and faded as though coming through a faulty old radio, "Agent Callen just lie still, I know you're in pain and a little bit scared, just relax, we're giving you something for the pain..."

_We're just giving you something for the pain... Press here if you're in too much pain... It'll help with the pain... Take this, it'll stop ya feelin' anything... I just wanted the pain gone... It's not even workin' anymore... You're still hurting, aren't you? No matter how much you take..? You gotta stop this, you're killing yourself... Just wanted the pain to stop... It'll help with the pain... Press here if you're in too much pain... We're just giving you something for the pain..._

"No!" He was shouting, or trying to but he couldn't get enough air, couldn't breathe in, couldn't breathe out. Everything hurt, there was fire everywhere but he wouldn't, couldn't, do that again. "No drugs... No..."

"It's alright, Agent Callen, it'll just take the edge off. Just relax for me..."

_I just wanted the pain gone... It's not even workin' anymore... _

"Everyone just shut up!" Too many voices, all of them talking, yelling, growing louder and louder, determined to be heard... Too loud. Too crowded. So many voices, so many thought and memories and some were real and some weren't and some never had been and never would be and the panic was returning and he couldn't breathe... And a needle pricked his skin... "NO!"

"Agent Callen!"

But he was falling, blackness swirling round and round as pain ripped his chest open with a strangled cry. The needle was sent flying, the voices screamed as one and then there was silence. Dark silence.

"Agent Callen?" The voice was tentative this time, quiet and unsure.

"I don't want it..." He was crying , from pain, from fear, from desperation and he couldn't stop it. "I don't want it..."

And at last they back off and the silence returned, cold and uninviting. The room became empty, the last of the voices faded away and the colours slowly returned. He was alone but he could see. He began to breathe again, one shaky attempt at a time, one tiny gulp of air, one miniscule dose of relief for the burning in his chest. The room became clearer and clearer, the feeling of the bed on which he lay, the blankets tangled around him from the twisting and fighting, the monitor beeping away, its rhythm slowing and evening out as each moment past. But he could not stay here.

He moved slowly, pulled tubes from his nose, electrodes from his skin pausing at small noises and whimpering with each larger motion. His stomach protested most as he slid his bare legs out of bed, his ribs took their turn and he stumbled to his feet and his wrists made their presence known each time he moved his hands. But he did not stop. A jacket (most likely Sam's) had been left on a chair, a pair of hospital pants lying on a table to one side and he managed to slip into both. As a fresh wave of fear washed over him he staggered to the door, took and moment to collect his thoughts as best he could and stepped out, vanishing into the casual stream of people as he'd done all his life.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

If Sam had thought the walk into the interrogation room had taken hours then the walk back out of it took years. He was empty, feeling nothing at all for he had pushed every trace of human emotion away as forcefully as he could, turning himself into anything other than the man who wanted nothing more than to shoot Kane in the face for what he'd done. Of course even with his best effort he still wanted to, God he wanted to; every instinct in his body was screaming at him to do something to avenge his partner. But he did nothing, focusing instead on putting one foot in front of the other and leaving the room, leaving it with dignity and control.

Entering the boathouse's observation room was not done with nearly as much of either. Slamming his hand onto the table Sam paced back and forth while Kensi did something similar on the other side of the room. How could Kane have been allowed to do that for so many years? How many kids had to die, or worse, before someone took notice? Their conversation from a few days earlier worked its way into his head and Sam felt a wave of disgust wash over him at the realization that were Callen not wrapped up in this they likely wouldn't have noticed either.

Hetty was the only one who took a seat, lowering herself silently into a chair across the table from both Nate and Detective Colby with a heavy sigh. "What did you get from him, Mr. Getz?" she asked with a level of control only she could manage given the situation.

Nate took a deep breath before answering, glancing around at Sam and Kensi who approached from either side and took their seats without a word. "He's a psychopath," the psychologist answered in a voice of forced professionalism, "He's feels absolutely no remorse for anything he's done, in fact I doubt he feels much of anything at all. His priorities are money and control, both of which he could achieve through what he was doing..."

"What he was doing," said Kensi softly, "Is it... Possible?"

Nate nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. If you can take a person and break them down completely, strip them of their believe system, their morals, their ability to think logically... If you can strip them down to nothing at all then you can build them back up again any way you'd like. It is possible and I have no doubt that he could do it, but I'd have to talk to the victims to be sure... And if he is doing it, it's not something that goes away... This is major psychological torture."

"It fits," Colby spoke up suddenly, causing everyone to look at him, "With what I saw happen to Callen last time, I mean. How he seemed like a different person afterwards..."

Sam raised his good arm and ran a hand over his face in a slow, measured gesture. Images of his partner crumpled and bleeding against the cellar wall were invading his head one by one, forcing memories upon him that he was sure would haunt him for the rest of his life. The fear in his best friend's eyes, the confusion as he fought against his own mind, the helplessness in his voice when he tried to explain... Everything Kane had done.

He shook his head and forced his mind back to the present. "But you can fix it, right?" he asked, staring directly at Nate as though daring him to say no, "You can help these people?"

"Sam, this type of psychological torture isn't simple," said the younger man slowly, his voice holding a tense edge despite his efforts to keep it calm, "The effects could be any number of things..."

"Dammit Nate, I don't care!" Sam snapped, cutting the younger man off abruptly, "Just tell me you can fix Callen!"

It was the pause that gave the answer away. Nate hesitated just long enough for it to be noticeable and in that moment Sam knew they were nowhere near being out of the woods.

"I'll try," the psychologist answered softly, "I really will."

"We all will," Hetty added, her voice bringing an odd sort of calmness to the room despite the emotions raging within all of them.

Sam sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day and stood up once more. The anger which had cause him to snap at Nate was demanding some kind of movement and he obliged by resuming his pacing. "We have to help him," he said softly, completely aware of the fact that desperation was showing through in his voice, "Nate, you'll need practice..." Moving with a determined calmness he activated the link to the Eagle's Nest and summoned their resident hacker. "Eric, we need the names of every kid who has ever stayed with Marvin Kane, ever."

"Do we have a warrant for those records?" the blond asked, his usual cheer lacing his voice.

It was that cheer which set Sam off in a way it had never before, creating a hole through which every one of his pent up emotions emerged. "No, we don't have a warrant!" he barked, "We aren't going to get a warrant! You are going to get us every goddamn name and I don't care how you do it. Hack, lie, cheat, steal, I don't care, just get me those names!"

Eric looked shocked but recovered himself quickly, nodding and setting to work on the keyboard in front of him. "I'll get them," he assured them then paused, the uncertain look returning to his eyes, "Hey Sam?" he asked softly, "It was bad, what Kane told you, wasn't it?"

The dark skinned agent took a moment to get his feelings under control before nodding stiffly. "Yeah," he said roughly before disconnecting the link.

A long silence followed in which no one seemed able or willing to take the initiative and speak up. Kensi remained seated, fiddling absentmindedly with her hair, Colby was massaging his temples, Sam had resumed his pacing once more, Nate sat watching them all sadly and Hetty had her hands clasped on her lap and seemed lost in thought. That is until her phone rang. The sudden sound coupled with her abrupt reaction seemed to knock the tempo of the room up several gears.

"How long ago?" she was asking sharply by the time Sam really caught on to the conversation, "Search the premises, we'll be right there."

"What happened?" Colby asked, watching as Hetty snapped her phone shut and tucked it away again.

"Mr. Callen has escaped the hospital," the Operations Manager explained tersely, "He regained consciousness earlier than expected and panicked at the sight of all the doctors in the room. He was gone before they could return to sedate him."

"What'd they leave him for!?" Sam exclaimed loudly, turning to stare at his boss.

Hetty pursed her lips. "He became agitated, Mr. Hanna. The nurses felt it best to leave the room in hopes that he would calm himself."

"I hope he did," said Nate softly, drawing the gaze of everyone in the room, "Otherwise he's running from something we can't see..." 

* * *

Organizing the search had not taken long, it fact it had taken everything Hetty had to even get the team to stay put long enough to listen to the plan. The search itself, on the other hand, was taking forever. The afternoon sun had faded into evening which in turn changed to night and still Sam wandered the streets. He'd given up on driving over an hour ago, knowing Callen would only pick up on an approaching vehicle and hoping that on foot he would appear less threatening. Nate had warned them that his partner's mental state was likely to be unstable and he had made his personal mission to avoid causing him unnecessary fear.

Colby had volunteered to check out Callen's old hiding places on the off chance he'd fallen back on old tricks but had come up empty. Kensi had set out with Nate using their combined insight into the missing agent's personality to find him but they too had nothing. Hetty had left without explaining her part though they rather suspected she was calling in favours of some kind while Sam himself had started with an organized grid search around the perimeter of the hospital. His thinking was that the injuries his partner had sustained would prevent him from getting too far away and when that didn't work he began fanning out his search until he'd all but given up.

They all knew Callen could disappear better than anyone else in the business, they knew he could become a ghost at a moment's notice but somehow Sam had hoped that maybe, just maybe, his friend wanted to be found. So far, however, that didn't seem to be the case and he was left growing more and more frustrated as the night progressed. He was about to call and check up on the others' progress (again) when something caught his eye, a figure sitting at the bus stop down the road. The sight itself was not remarkable, nor was it unusual except for the fact that the street was deserted, almost as though they were meant to be the only two people present. Not that the figure seemed to notice Sam's presence, they were hunched over and didn't appear to move even as the dark skinned agent approached.

With each step forward Sam's certainty that it was in fact Callen increased and he slipped his phone out of his pocket, typing a quick text message to Hetty and the others telling them to call off the search effort, that he'd found him. Little things became more and more apparent the closer he got, his partner elbows were resting on his knees but with the way his body rocked with every breath it was obvious the position was anything but comfortable. His head was bowed, hanging between his arms as though lifting it took more strength than he had left which, Sam noted, may have been the case.

It was only when he got close enough for the streetlight across the road to begin casting its glow over his partner's face that he noticed, with a start, that Callen was crying. Not sobbing, not choking on tears or shaking or even so much as making a sound but there was no denying the tears sliding freely down his cheeks. Sam almost wished he'd scream, or wipe his eyes, or do something because watching someone as strong as Callen look so incredibly helpless was almost more than he could bear. The silence in the air was eerie and yet he couldn't find it in him to break it, that would mean addressing the scene before him, it would mean knowing what to say to fix it, and he didn't. So he did the only thing that came to him and lowered himself on the bench beside his partner, imitating his posture and joining him in silence.

How long they sat like that Sam had no idea, it could have been mere minutes or even hours, there was just no way to know. There was an odd sort of calmness between them, as though simply being in each other's presence was easing some of the day's tension away and making everything more bearable despite the situation. Sam only hoped that the feeling was not one sided, that his partner found at least some kind of comfort in his presence but the younger man remained motionless save for the steady stream of tears working their way down every inch of his face.

Still it was Callen who broke the silence, the softest of sobs escaping him as he began to blink slowly. Sam watched carefully as the blue eyes cleared with each blink to the point where he could almost see traces of his best friend in the tearstained face. Almost. The helplessness was still there but as the confusion lifted some of the life seemed to return to his face, if only slightly. A few more moments passed in which Sam waited with a level of patience he rarely showed for his partner to make the first move. One wrong decision now and he knew he could send Callen back to whatever world he'd just escaped from.

"I'm sorry."

The whisper caught Sam off guard and he stared at his partner in confusion. "Sorry?" he questioned softly, "What are you sorry for, G?"

Callen, who had yet to raise his head finally did so, his eyes skirting nervously over the larger man's frame and coming to rest momentarily on his injured shoulder. He managed a sort of half-shrug though even that drew a grimace of pain. "For hurting you," he murmured, turning away again and staring at the ground with empty eyes.

Sam shook his head gently with a small smile. "It wasn't your fault," he said, choosing his words carefully and keep a close eye on his friend's reaction, "You were scared, you were just protecting yourself. It's nothing to be sorry about. If anyone should be apologizing it's me, I scared you, I moved too fast, I didn't bother to tell you who I was or what I was doing there. It wasn't your fault."

"I remember everything."

Again Callen's words caught Sam off guard, swinging the conversation in a completely different direction. He wasn't sure why but he had assumed that his partner wouldn't remember their tumultuous encounter down in Kane's cellar but clearly he had been mistaken. "You remember...?"

"Everything," the injured man replied, turning to meet his eyes at last.

Silence fell over them again as Sam contemplated what he could possibly say to that. Comfort wouldn't work, Callen had always hated that in much the same way he hated sympathy or anything that insinuated he was a victim. Asking for clarification ran the risk of having him close down and ignoring it did nothing to help him recover. He began to wish he'd thought to call Nate or even Hetty for backup.

"You didn't look like you." For the third time Sam's thoughts were interrupted by Callen's voice, weak and wavering as it may be, "I thought you were..." He shook his head suddenly, a pained expression creasing his face. "Doesn't matter..."

Sam nodded once. He needed no further explanation, the look on his friend's face was proof enough of what he'd already suspected. At the moment the knife had plunged into his flesh his best friend had no idea who he was. Lifting his good arm and ran his hand over his face slowly, taking the time to breathe deeply a couple of times and get the latest wave of uncertainties under control before speaking. "We got Kane," he said softly, fully aware of the risk he was taking but continuing nevertheless, "He's in custody."

There was no missing the way Callen's shoulders tensed or the audible catch as his breath died in his throat at the sound of the name. He bowed his head once more and managed a stiff nod with Sam took as his cue to continue.

"We know what happened," the dark skinned man pushed on gently, "He told us everything... Explained it all to us... Do you wanna talk about it?"

If he'd been sitting any further away from his partner or not watching him as intently as he was he would have missed it, for the trembling was that slight but it was there all the same. It was in his hands mostly but working its way up to his shoulder and causing his already laboured breathing to worsen just enough for it to be noticeable. He shook his head but his movements were already growing more erratic with every passing second and Sam could see the panic beginning to work its way back into his best friend's eyes.

"Callen?" he said softly, "G, it's okay. We won't talk about it. That's fine..."

"Fine?" said Callen weakly, a slight edge of hysteria to his voice as he raised his head to stare at Sam once more, "Nothing is fine. Nothing!"

The battle for control raged on his face as he turned away again and tried to force in a few good breaths, but that was a mistake. With a gasp of pain he buckled forward both arms snaking their way around his chest in a valiant attempt to dull the pain, but the movement only succeeded in causing the sensation to worsen and he cried out as the bullet wound took the brunt of his weight. His breathing went from laboured to almost nonexistent as he chocked in whatever air he could manage, his eyes rolling back in their sockets as he fought to stay conscious. As shock began to make its presence known his last grasp of reality seemed to leave him and he began shaking his head desperately, crying out in helplessly until without any warning he wretched violently, emptying what little there was in his stomach onto the pavement next to him.

If it was possible to scream while vomiting Callen did it, this fresh wave of pain causing his eyes to roll back once more and he was saved from falling right off the bench by Sam who had jumped to his feet the moment his partner's mouth had opened and knelt before him holding the broken body in his arms.

"It's okay, Callen. It's alright. Just breathe, okay? I've got you," he repeated softly, forcing his voice to sound calm and reassuring despite the panic which had overtaken him at his friend's collapse.

But if Callen was listening he didn't let it show, his eyes stayed closed and the only sign that he was still clinging to some level of consciousness was the continued shaking of his head. It was only when that had finally slowed to a stop that he responded, his eyes remaining closed. "I can't..." he murmured weakly, his voice somewhat slurred and laced with a level of helplessness the older man had never heard before, "Sam, I don't wanna do this again..."

Sam let out a long sigh, shifting his partner's dead weight in his arms until the younger man's head rested against his chest. "I know," he replied hoarsely, "I know..."


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

It was nearly midnight by the time Sam managed to get his partner settled and a cool breeze fluttered through the open window next to him causing a few goose bumps to rise on the back of his neck. Nate had warned them that Callen's mental state was sure to be unpredictable at best considering what he'd just been through but somehow the ex SEAL had failed to really grasp what that meant until he'd witnessed it for himself. The younger man was in shambles, a fear the likes of which Sam had never seen controlling his mind and torturing it. Even knowing the cause of the breakdown wasn't enough to truly understand what was happening in his best friend's head and he hated that.

His first choice had been to get Callen back to the nearest hospital, knowing full well that he was still in need of medical treatment, if nothing else to repair the damage done by his latest escapade but at the mention of the word 'hospital' all traces of reality seemed to have been torn from his partner's already weakening grasp. Sam had to admit that Callen's latest descent into madness had rattled him just as badly as it had back in Kane's cellar surrounded by blood and the smell of death and just like the time before he found himself powerless to stop it. Hetty had ended the panic last time by means of a sedative but on this occasion Sam had been on his own and only time (and he hoped the voice of forced calm he'd put on for Callen's sake) had finally pulled the younger man from the darkness of his mind.

With a return visit to the hospital out of the picture based on Callen's reaction the only remaining alternative was returning to the Hanna family home and hoping beyond hope that the broken man's injuries had been sufficiently treated already. As unlikely as that was Sam knew there was no way he could force treatment on him in his current state and resigned himself to look after his friend as best he could. The first order of business had been to get Callen back to his car, which he'd left several blocks away from the street on which they'd found themselves. From there Sam had driven home and simply carried his partner inside, ignoring the pain in his bandaged arm because he found that he couldn't stand the thought of forcing him to walk any further. It was a testament of how far gone the younger man really was that he didn't object to the action in the slightest but rather lost consciousness in the older man's arms.

Sighing heavily Sam ran a hand over his face and stretched out as much as possible in the wooden chair which had been his resting place since he'd settled Callen in the guest room twenty minutes ago, laying him carefully in bed and removing the jacket leaving him clad only in the hospital gown and pants. From his seat he could keep watch over his friend's battered body, motionless save for the erratic rise and fall of his chest, and there he planned to remain until Hetty and the others arrived in the morning. He'd called them all the moment he'd sat down, explained the evening's events to them and organized for the whole team (and Detective Colby) to meet him here first thing in the morning to discuss what should be done. For now though all was quiet and Sam only hoped it would stay that way. 

* * *

He'd never been afraid of the dark. Maybe that was strange, and maybe it didn't fit with what was expected of someone like him but it had always seemed that while monsters may be able to hide in the shadows, so could he. In the dark one could move without being seen, go anywhere and outrun anything that might be trying to chase them down. In the dark one could be themselves, whatever that may be. But this time, in the dark, he was nothing. He was the darkness, ignored or chased away by light and feared by those who saw him. Like the monster he was, the monster he always had been, the monster he hid with masks and jokes and pretended not to see...

And quite suddenly the darkness became suffocating, wrapping itself around him and all but squeezing the air from his lungs. Drowning him. Blinking did not lift the charcoal clouds which blanketed his eyes, nor did pressing them, scratching them, clawing them until the desperation in his fingers faded into nothingness. Like him. He wanted to cry out, scream until someone came running bringing with them the light he suddenly craved. He wanted to beat his hands against something, anything, and chase the darkness away. But he lay still. Not a sound came from him, not a single twitch moved his body since his hands went limp lying still across his freshly gouged eyes.

No one would come if he called. He remembered, he really did, remembered the knife and the changing face before him and the arm which was really Sam's and the prick of a needle meeting his skin. He remembered the yelling, the sounds and the voices. He remembered the jacket, the jacket that smelled of Sam and safety and friendship and everything he would never have again. He remembered the bench, Sam and explaining. He remembered everything. There was a certain fuzziness to those memories, a level of patchiness and confusion which clung to him still and forced his eyes closed once more. Despite everything he remembered. No one would come. They knew what he was now, the monster had told them...

Sadness consumed him at the thought leaving in its wake a red-hot pain and horrible tightness as it ripped through his chest. Everything he'd hid from them, every lie he'd told them to keep them here, they were all in the open now, all lit up bright for everyone to see. Like neon signs. He was a liar. He was a monster. He was a killer. He was weak and stupid and pathetic and a forgotten, worthless waste of space. Like always.

"_I told you to stop coming to find me, all I do is take up space and fuck things up. It's all I'm good for..." There was nothing but pure disgust in Callen's voice, the dejected and miserable edge which had been present for the past few year making itself heard as well as he lay curled on his side._

_For a moment it seemed no one would respond to the teen's comment but after some consideration Colby finally spoke, lowering himself onto the floor with a sigh as he did so. "So you keep telling me."_

_Callen groaned softly, clenching and unclenching his fists slowly and feeling the dried blood on his wrists crack beneath the bandages with each movement. He was about to open his mouth and demand the reason his friend had seen fit to foil his plans yet again when his stomach rolled uncomfortably and he felt bile surge up his throat. As though he'd read the boy's mind Colby slid a bucket towards him without a word and Callen promptly emptied the contents of his last liquid meal into it. Crouching on his hands and knees he pushed the bucket away again and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. _

"_What did you take last night? Do you remember?" Colby asked dully. He seemed to be debating moving closer to his young friend but decided against it, settling instead on tossing him an alcohol wipe. "Clean up your arm," he instructed, "You're going to get an infection at this rate."_

"_Does it matter?" Callen muttered darkly pulling the wipe out of its package and applying it to the inside of his left elbow where a number of red needle marks could be seen contrasting with the paleness of his skin. _

"_Not to you..." Colby sighed._

Shaking his head weakly to chase the haunting voices away, Callen risked opening his eyes once more. The darkness was still there, just as oppressing as before and just as it had before his chest tightened at the sight of it. Colby hadn't known back then, he'd made sure of it. He'd lied when he needed to and gone silent when the lies didn't work because if the older man had known what he really was, what really he'd done... He shook his head once more, the all too familiar feeling of panic beginning to work its way through every inch of his body. It was all happening again and he couldn't stop it. He was going to fall. He was going to fall and fall and fall until he hit rock bottom just as he had all those years ago in the silence of Colby's basement. Only this time no one was going to be there to help him up again.

His hands, still resting on his face despite the head shaking, began grabbing at his hair with their fingertips, tugging it painfully and causing him to whimper with each movement. But he wasn't doing it, his hands were, some force other than his own mind controlling them and he couldn't stop it, just as he couldn't stop the panic or the darkness or anything. And the movements grew more violent with each thought, the pain sharper and his breathing more laboured as he fought desperately for some level of control. But none came.

It was as though bricks were piling on his chest, one after another, pressing him down and crushing him. He tried to move, to breathe, to do something but his body ignored his commands. It was laughing at him, his body, laughing at the pathetic, broken excuse for a mind fighting a battle it could not win. Another brick came down, his lungs grew tighter and the sound of rushing water rose in his ears. Not gentle pond water either, but churning, surging, crashing water; grey and powerful and terrifying. The kind of water which broke down rocks and tore bodies limb from limb. Still more bricks seemed to fall upon him, in quick succession this time and his breathing all but stopped with their weight. His hands though, they kept moving, kept clawing, kept digging with a vigour he could not control at his hair and face. His heart pounded, his lungs burned, the deafening roar of untamed waves raged in his ears and still he could not move anything save for his hands.

"_Something does matter, though," Colby continued after a moment, his eyes fixed on the boy's face even if that meant lowering his head somewhat._

"_Something always does to you..." Callen muttered, doing everything in his power to avoid the piercing gaze._

_The officer chose to ignore his friend's comment, giving up on his attempts to make eye contact and leaning back on his hands with a sigh. "You need to stop doing this to yourself, Cal," he said tiredly, his voice making it clear that they'd had this conversation before, "I know that something must have happened, that you're trying to deal with it, but this isn't healthy. There are better ways, people who want to help you –"_

_Callen laughed coldly. He'd managed to ease his body into an upright position so that he was sitting, legs spread in front of him, across from Colby though his head was pounding in such a way that he was sorely tempted to simply allow himself to pass out again. "The point is that it's not healthy, Colby." He said nastily "I. Want. To. Die! That's it! That's all! And I wish that you'd just fucking let me!"_

"_Callen –"_

_But the teen shook his head angrily, leaning forward with a furious glint in his eyes. "No! Shut up! I don't care what you want or, or what you think! Just shut up! I'm done, okay? I'm just done. I'm done with life, with being a piece of garbage people just kick wherever they want!" he voice broke and he closed his eyes in self disgust, "I'm tired of being nothing, I'm tired of being useless, and I never want to remember anything ever again. No one will even notice when I die..."_

"_I would notice," said Colby softly, his voice thick with some indistinguishable emotion, "I care about you, you know that."_

"_Yeah," said Callen dully, opening his eyes again and fiddling with the bandages around his wrists, "Sure you would. You have a wife, Colby, and three kids and a house and a job and friends and a life. I'm just a pain in the ass. You're better off without me anyway..." _

"_You are my friend, Cal. You matter to me," the officer argued gently, though and edge of desperation had entered his voice._

"_No I don't... Not really..." the boy murmured, allowing his eyes to slide closed as he shifted his position so he was leaning against the wall, "You have other people who matter..."_

And with a strangled sob his body finally moved, allowing itself to be pitched forward as he crumpled to his hands and knees on the floor. The darkness swam before him, twisting and dancing and rendering him nauseous as he gasped for breath, his chest heaving despite the burning pain it caused him. He deserved the pain. He had always deserved it and he always would. Leaning his head against the bed frame next to which he knelt and pulling his feet up underneath him he managed to curl himself into a ball in a way comparable to a frightened child hiding from the monster under their bed. But he was the monster now, and he could not hide from himself...

Slowly he raised his hands to his face once more, ignoring every feeling save for the contact between fingertips and day's worth of stubble which covered his face. He could control it, that one little thing, the one feeling, the one motion; it was his and his alone. It calmed him if only so that the pounding water in his ears died down and real sounds could be heard at last. The ragged hissing that was his breathing, the gentle hum of an air conditioning unit, cars moving on the streets outsides... Normal things. Life things. Things being and existing and moving and in control of themselves. Not like him.

Another jarring breath and he lowered his hands, clasp them together and felt bandages there just like before. Bandages holding in the blood he so desperately wanted to spill. Bandages tied by some doctor who would never understand. With slow and deliberate movements he tugged at the cloth, found the knots in the darkness which still surrounded him and worked them loose. It was easier when he couldn't see, it always had been... In the silence which had moved in since the water left the sound of cloth falling away seemed deafening, ominous and strangely inviting. He could do it again, do it properly this time, in the dark, in the quiet, before the waves and the sounds and the terror came back. He could die.

An odd sort of calm washed over him as his fingers found the now exposed slices along both wrists. They were shallower than they should have been, scabbed and crusted over, the marks of uselessness, of a coward. But he didn't care. Coward or not he would succeed this time. His nails dug into the openings easily, pulled away flakes of dried blood with each motion and burrowed deeper and deeper into his flesh. Pain flooded him, as though the digging reignited every injury his body had sustained and he gasped softly but did not stop. He was done. He was done and he wanted out. He would not do this again, not alone, he couldn't.

_It was Colby's turn to get angry and he did so, a flush of colour rising to his cheeks as he worked visibly to keep his emotions under control. "You honestly believe that, don't you?" he said in a voice of forced calm staring straight into the boy's face._

"_It's true..." Callen replied tiredly, his eyes still closed as he messaged his temples slowly in an attempt to dull the headache now threatening to cause his scull to burst, "I donno why you keep trying to say it's not. It's not like I don't already know..." Almost without thinking the his hands dropped to his sides and he reached into his pockets, feeling around inside them before searching the floor around him with his eyes still closed._

"_Looking for this?" the officer asked dryly, holding out a clear plastic bag filled with what appeared to be heroine._

_The boy opened his eyes reluctantly and sighed. "Yeah."_

_Colby turned the bag over in his hands, examining its contents sadly. "You're not going to ask for it back?" he said after a moment, shifting his gaze back to the teen before him._

_Callen shrugged half-heartedly. "It's not like you'll give it to me if I do," he pointed out, leaning his back against the wall once more and closing his eyes yet again, "You're still determined to force more misery down my throat."_

_The anger Colby had managed to push to the back of his mind emerged in full force at those words and his eyes flashed as he tucked the bag back into his pocket. "You're so determined that you're useless," he said forcefully, his usually calm voice completely forgotten, "You're so determined that no one gives a damn –"_

"_They don't –"_

"_I give a damn, Callen! I do!" The words burst from the older man's mouth laced with more emotions than he could count, a sharp, furious edge disguising the hurt and fear which made up the rest. He slammed his fist violently against the floor, shook his head and set his jaw before continuing, "Have you ever once considered what it's like for me? What I feel watching you do this to yourself? What I would feel if you did managed to kill yourself? Has that thought even entered your head? Or have you been too busy shooting God-knows-what into your bloodstream and drinking yourself half to death that you haven't even noticed what you're doing to your friends?" _

_Callen had gone completely rigid, his eyes over-bright and watchful yet at the same time filled with a look of undeniable shock and fear that, at any other time, would have made Colby apologise like a madman. _

_But not this time. This time the officer simply reached back into his pocket and produced the bag of drugs, tossing it back to its owner in disgust. "There. Take it. Do whatever the hell you want, it's not like I can stop you." And he stood up, turning on his heal and leaving the room without another word._

_The teen's hands found the bag without thinking and pulled it towards him, his eyes never leaving the spot where his friend had been. It took him a full five minutes to realize he was crying._

And those tears were real, warm and salty and stinging his wrists as they fell silently into the newly-reopened wounds. He'd promised Colby, that very day all those years ago, he'd promised him that he was done hurting himself. He'd promised and he'd meant it and he'd gone all these years without breaking it, until... His fingernails found the half-destroyed scabs once more, the feel of blood slipping under his fingers and he bowed his head. Liar. But Colby wouldn't have care about him if he'd known, wouldn't have come and found him or carried him someplace safe when he was too out of it to stand. If he'd known then Colby would have been gone and nothing would have brought him back. Cops hate murderers and people hate monsters. He felt more tears slip down his nose in the dark.

But his nerves failed him. In a sudden surge of guilt which burned worse than the fire already consuming his torso he bolted for the door, searched it out with his hands and stumbled unsteadily into the brightly lit hallway beyond. He was blind the moment the light found his eyes, buckling to his knees and crying out from the pain of everything. The pain of his mind, his ribs, his stomach and wrists and the light searing his eyes... Quick footsteps reached his ears but his eyes would not obey the command to open and he was left backing away, blind to the world. Hands on his forearms were the first indication he had of the other's distance. Small, warms and gentle they moved up to his shoulders and finally tilted his head forward and out of the light with an even pressure.

"Callen? Callen, blink a bit," came a woman's voice softly, "It must be pretty bright out here."

But he knew the voice and he allowed himself to relax against her touch.

"Kensi?"

"Yeah," the young agent replied softly, raising his head with the same gentle pressure so their eyes finally met and he could see her face despite the tears still blurring his vision, "It's me. What are you doing up, Callen? You should be in bed."

He had no reply to offer her, or none he could articulate and his eyes still burned from the light above so he simply bowed his head again and closed them for a moment, opening them only when he felt her hands slid under his arms. She helped him stand slowly, taking most of his weight for him without complaint and said something gently about getting him back to bed but pain and exhaustion turned the words to while noise. When she started back towards the darkness, however, fear hit him once more and the blood dribbling silently down his fingers suddenly seemed heavy and cold. He planted his feet, feeling his chest tighten once more at the sight of the open door before him, at the smell of the blood...

"No," he said sharply, "Kenz..."

She stopped in her tracks, keeping her hands in place and his weight on her shoulders as she nodded slowly. "Okay," she said softly, but still her voice faded in and out as he struggled to listen, "Okay how's this, everyone's here, the whole team, why don't you come rest on the couch where we are?"

His body made the decision to nod before his mind could catch up, before he could truly process what the younger agent had told him but he found that he didn't care. They were moving again and Kensi was leading him slowly away from the darkness.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

In the time it took her to hurry down the hall a lifetime passed before Kensi's eyes. A lifetime spent with a broken fiancé and filled with sleepless nights as he trembled beside her, haunted by monsters she could not see. A lifetime of guilt as she watched him drift further and further away, consumed by a past she was not a part of. A lifetime of handing him pills with the desperate hope that somehow the innumerable tablets would bring her best friend back to her. But he hadn't come back; she had failed him and that whole life had faded into nothingness in her mind. Jack was gone and now Callen...

He was on his knees, a strange whimpering escaping him as he rocked from side to side like some kind of wounded animal backing desperately away from her. His movements were erratic and painfully slow as though he lacked not only the physical strength but also the coordination to control his trembling limbs. Kensi did not hesitate, knowing that in his current state Callen would not be able to fight back even with the fear clearly visible on his face she knelt beside him and rested her hands on his forearms. When he did not pull away from her touch she moved her hands slowly, ignoring the fever burning through the his skin, and titled his head downwards so as to shield his watering eyes from the light.

"Callen?" she said in a tone which had not touched her lips since Jack's disappearance, "Callen, blink a bit. It must be pretty bright out here." She fell silent, watching his face closely as a series of slight tremors passed over it. He looked so fragile, like one wrong move would destroy all remaining traces of the man he once was and she knew, selfish as it was, that she could not lose another friend to the depth of their own mind.

The tremors slowed as a look of recognition crept into his eyes. "Kensi?"

A relieved sigh escaped her and she found herself almost glad that her co-worker was too out of it to really notice. "Yeah," she replied softly, "It's me." With a gentle motion she ran her thumb along him cheek, the rough scratching of stubble bringing a sad smile to her face. When things got bad Jake would often forget such things. "What are you doing up, Callen? You should be in bed." She continued softly as she risked lifting his head again, attempting to study his eyes through the tears still streaking down his cheeks. The fevered look in his over bright orbs drew yet another sigh, sad this time, from her lips. He seemed to have aged overnight, exhaustion drawing his face tight and pain highlighting his every movement. He looked broken.

She didn't really expect an answer and he didn't give one even as she hooked one of his arms around her neck and eased him to his feet. Snaking her free hand slowly around his waist to further support his uneven gait she made to lead him back to bed but that was a mistake. He went ridged in her arms, the tremors starting up again and consuming the whole of his body this time. His arms in particular jumped and shook at his sides, bouncing upwards in completely involuntary convulsions and drawing her eyes to his wrists for the first time.

"No, Kenz..."

Even the sharpness in his voice was not enough to draw her eyes from trembling limbs though she did stop dead and clutched him closer to her. She had not expected the evidence to be so obvious, blood still dribbling slowly down the contours of his hands and off the tips of his fingers. Nothing about Callen was meant to be obvious. Nothing was meant to be seen. G Callen was a ghost, for the most part even to those who knew him. She shouldn't be able to see his mangled emotions written clearly in his eyes, shouldn't be able to see the surging depression in the blood leaking from his veins...

She forced the fear, which had slowly taken hold of her stomach and tied it into elaborate knots, into some forgotten corner of her mind and nodded slowly, returning her focus to the task at hand. "Okay," she said slowly, trying to ensure that Callen understood every word, "Okay how's this, everyone's here, the whole team, why don't you come rest on the couch where we are?"

A silent nod was the only response she got, a slow jerking movement may or may not have been involuntary but she did not care. Callen needed his family and she intended to give that to him.

* * *

Sam was pacing and had been doing so for what seemed like hours but he could not stop. At first Hetty had ordered him to sit down, even got Nate helping her out but it had been to no avail. He could not sit still. He hadn't wanted to leave his partner's side either, even when the others arrived, but they'd managed to convince him to do that much by pointing out that there was no way they could help Callen if they couldn't discuss the situation. Not that discussing had done much good. Nate had rattled on about psychological mumbo-jumbo he didn't really understand with Hetty joining him while Kensi and Colby listened in silence between taking turns checking on the injured agent.

He himself hadn't been allowed to keep watch over his best friend, the first time he stood to check in on him he had been cornered and forced back on to the couch with a stern lecture from Hetty about him needing rest just as much as Callen did. Sam didn't buy it but had stopped arguing once she agreed to at least let him pace. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. They were supposed to find Callen injured, sure, but still himself. They were supposed to have walked into that cellar and been met with some smartass remark and perhaps a painful smirk or something. But they hadn't found that, they hadn't found his partner at all instead they'd found... Well he really didn't know what.

Without warning he collapsed back on to the couch and closed his eyes, leaning his head back with a sigh. "Are you two gonna stop talking yourself in circles anytime soon?" he asked in a resigned voice, the question aimed at Hetty and Nate who were still bouncing ideas off one another quietly. He didn't know why suddenly it bothered him, their discussion, but he knew if they continued without actually saying anything useful he might just explode.

The psychologist looked towards his exhausted team mate in silence for a moment, his face strangely impassive considering how easily his emotions could usually be read. "There's nothing else we can do right now, Sam," he said finally, his voice sounding every bit as tired as Sam felt, "This is going to take time. Right now Callen is too far gone for anything to be really effective; we've got to at least get him calmed down and somewhat coherent first."

"He's just been shot," Hetty added sadly, "He's been tortured, chased, and blamed for something he did not do. His mind is broken but we will mend it. We will bring our boy back, Sam, but it will take time."

Sam chose not to call his boss on her little slip up. Her relationship with Callen was complicated, everyone knew that, but he was certain that (though she would never admit to it) like any parent she was being absolutely destroyed by this twist of fate. Heaving a sigh he nodded, running a hand over his face slowly. "I know," he admitted, "I just feel like we're doing nothing, that's all..."

Nate opened his mouth to reply when Colby stood suddenly, drawing their eyes to him for the first time in several minutes. In a heartbeat Sam had mirrored his action, concern flooding him at the sight of the figures making their way slowly into the living room. Kensi's expression was grim, whether from taking the brunt of the weight from the injured agent leaning heavily on her shoulder or something worse Sam couldn't be sure but he moved swiftly across the room to help in moving his partner to the couch. Callen's eyes were barely open and stained red from tears, his face still deathly pale and his hands trembling weakly as Kensi eased him back and Nate laid a blanket gently over the prone figure.

It was only once Callen was settled and drifting in and out of a fitful sleep that Kensi pulled the others aside. "I think he just tried to kill himself again," she said softly, the grim look growing more pronounced with each word, "His wrists are all dug up and he took the bandages off..."

Sam swore softly but next to him Nate was nodding.

"Are they still bleeding?" Colby asked, his face lines with concern.

"No," Kensi replied, "I think they've stopped, at least for the most part."

"You don't look surprised," Sam turned to Nate, all but ignoring the other conversation going on.

"I'm not," the younger man sighed, "We already knew he was in a suicidal frame of mind when we found him, it was almost certain that he'd try again."

"And you didn't tell us!" said the dark skinned agent in disbelief.

"Sam..."

"Dammit Nate, I'm serious!"

"I know, but you need to calm down."

"He's my best friend, my partner! – "

"Mr. Hanna." Hetty's voice cut into the growing argument sharply. She was standing next to the couch, her hands resting on Callen's trembling shoulders but it was the look on the injured man's face which drew Sam's eyes. Not only was he awake once more but the blue eyes were full of nothing but a helpless terror as he stared at the source of the raised voices.

Silence fell over the room and Colby took a few tentative steps forward, watching for any sign that his approach was unwanted. None came. By the time he reached the couch Callen's eyes were fixed on his face, recognition creeping slowly into the bloodshot orbs.

"Colby?" he murmured softly, his gaze skirting around the room erratically in what might have been muscle memory for a perimeter check, "Sam, Nate, Kensi, Hetty..." He drew a shuddering breath. "Colby, Sam, Nate, Kensi, Hetty..." His eyes slipped closed slowly, but the muttering continued as though by simply saying their name he could ensure they were real.

"Yeah, Cal, it's all of us. We're all here," Colby told him gently, looking more worried by the younger man's ongoing string of names than relieved by the fact he had recognized them.

And the detective was not the only one looking worried, Nate's brow had furrowed at Callen's words and he sighed quietly but he made no move to explain what was troubling him. It was only when Sam had torn his eyes away from the psychologist that he realized he had yet to move, after all it was his anger which had startled his partner, and he had not yet apologized. Moving slowly he too approached the injured agent, bending down in front of him and forcing a smile which did not meet his eyes.

Callen's eyes moved from Colby to Sam, flashing between the two of them erratically. "You hate me." It was a statement uttered with as much strength as his broken body would allow as a slight convulsion pinched his face. "You catch the monsters and you shoot them because you hate them."

"Callen..." said Sam firmly, sensing where the disjointed ramble was going and trying to cut in but the younger man overrode him.

"You both do. All the time. You track them and hunt them and shoot them." He paused, his blue eyes filled with despair, "Now you have to shoot me. Please?"

A stunned silence followed this demand with glances being thrown in every direction. Sam's heart was in his mouth despite having seen this coming and he could see a similar level of pain etched on the faces of every other person in the room as well, with the exception of Hetty who was desperately clinging to her mask of professionalism, as always. Taking a breath he attempted to steady himself, attempted to think of something, anything, to say that would get through to his partner but came up empty. The face, whose variety of masks he knew so well, was now completely exposed and coloured with real emotions, real pain, real fear, real confusion, which twisted its surface every few moments as its owner fought for some level of control. Sam hated it more than anything.

He hated that for once he could read his partner, hated knowing what he was thinking or feeling. He hated that on the day he finally saw the younger man's thoughts he could do nothing about them but mostly he hated that while the body was the same the man before him was not his best friend.

"G," said Hetty softly, her voice pulling Sam from his turbulent thoughts as she moved forward, drawing the injured man's attention towards herself instead.

Another convulsion overtook Callen's face but fell away more quickly than before, a frown taking its place and his eyes filing with a sort of accusatory light. "You called me G."

Sam exchanged a look with the others, his eyebrow raised. "Well I'll be damned," he muttered so only they could hear. If there was one person in the world who could change the tone and topic of a whole conversation with a single letter it was Hetty.

Behind him Kensi was smiling. "Hello, Callen," she returned just as softly.

A look similar to those on the faces of her employees creased the Operation Manager's face as she met Callen's gaze for the first time in what seemed like forever but she recovered quickly, nodding to confirm his statement. "I did."

"Why?" the blond asked, his gaze never leaving her face, "You don't do that. It's not a name, it's a letter."

Hetty sighed heavily, squeezing his shoulder and smiling sadly. "I did this time," she explained gently, "Because right now, G Callen, you need your family, not your boss."


	25. Chapter 25

_**Author's Note**_

_Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I'm back. Well, kind of. I'm trying, anyway, I really, truly am. I've been attempting to revive my still-faulty muse with my other stories while this one sits and gathers dust because, honestly, I had no idea how to go about tying up this tale. Turns out I'm good at the Hurt, not so good at the Comfort. That and when I started working on this piece years ago (wow, it has actually been two years…) I had no plot in mind, no idea where I was going with the story or where it would end. For anyone who ever wants to try their hand at writing a multi-chapter story take my advice, don't ever go into the project like that, it will kill your muse. It just will. _

_But then, just the other day, something amazing happen, something I honestly never expected. The ending, the final chapter of this story popped into my head. I was so excited, you have no idea. So now I know where I'm aiming, and that, at least, is a start. I don't know how I'm going to get there, how many chapters there will be or how long it will actually take me to get them written down but at least I have something. Now, this chapter has actually been done for several days now but I was hesitant to put it up because I just know the wait time for the next one will be longer than it should be but I decided that, hey, maybe some feedback is just what I need to get this rolling again. Here's hoping I'm right and please bare with me. Currently I'm working on the next chapter of Servant Of The Game, so there's no chance of an update here until that's up but I WILL finish this. I'm determined now. XD_

_Oh, one more thing, then I promise I'll shut up. I have just gone over this whole story, top to bottom, and edited it. The plot remains the same, so you don't have to go read it again (if after two year you remember what's going on, I sure as hell didn't XP) I just tried to patch up some of the earlier writing as best I could and fix any typos or inconsistencies I came across._

_**Happy Reading!**_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Hetty was making lunch. From his place on the couch, Callen could just make out her tiny form moving around Sam's kitchen collecting the necessary items with a practiced ease. She took each step with purpose, her movements planned, understood, organized. A cutting board was placed on the counter, a large pot and a pan on the stove and an equally large spoon next to them. There were vegetables too, carrots, celery and onions among others. It was all so, normal. It was all so controlled. He shifted his weight slightly as she stepped out of his field of vision, attempting to resume his observations but his ribs and the bullet wound flared up painfully in protest and he whimpered slightly.

A dark hand appeared out of nowhere and guided him gently back into his previous position while the concerned face of his partner swam overhead. "Take it easy, G," Sam told him softly, "Just rest, okay?"

"Hetty…"

"Hetty's just in the kitchen, G, she'll be right back."

Callen felt a surge of annoyance pass through him at his partner's lack of understanding but he couldn't find the energy to explain. Besides, the tiny Operations Manager has just reappeared, a carton of chicken stock in one hand and a container of chicken thighs in the other. He watched as she set everything down on the counter next to the stove, using the wooden step-stool Sam had made for his daughter two Christmases ago to raise her to the correct height. Callen could still remember the name of every shade of pink he'd studied along with his partner while they tried to decide what colour to paint it.

And speaking of Sam. "Hey, you with me, Partner?"

Blinking, the younger man forced himself to focus on the dark skinned agent kneeling before him, his large hand still resting gently on his injured chest. Trying to concentrate on the question proved much more difficult than watching Hetty cook but after a moment's work he nodded stiffly, hoping that would satisfy the other man.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asked carefully, maintaining eye contact even as Callen attempted to shift his gaze back to the kitchen.

Giving up on being able to watch Hetty any longer, Callen closed his eyes. He couldn't look into his partner's eyes without seeing the guilt and pain he was trying to hide, guilt and pain he shouldn't be feeling, guilt and pain that were his fault. He felt his gut tighten painfully at the thought and grit his teeth. Sam had asked his a question and he owed him an honest answer, even if he had no idea what that was. Turning his head slightly with his eyes still closed, the younger man felt the now all too familiar feeling of panic prickling the back of his mind as he searched for an answer he knew he didn't have.

"I…" He shook his head, the motion growing more and more vigorous until his partner's hands gripped both his shoulders and squeezed them reassuringly.

"It's okay, G," the older man said gently, "It's okay, you don't have to answer…"

Silence fell over them and Callen forced his eyes open again to find that his view into the kitchen was unobstructed once more. Still standing atop the childish, pink stool Hetty was slicing the vegetables he'd seen her bring over, her knife flashing in the light. And with every glint of reflected light came a searing pain, first in his wrists, then his ribs, then his gut… Suddenly he found that he couldn't watch her any longer and he turned his head away with a painful grimace, burying his face into the couch on which he lay. He'd stabbed Sam with a knife like that. He'd stabbed his best friend, his brother, a man he truly trusted beyond a shadow of a doubt, the same man currently rubbing circles on his shoulder blade with the thumb of one hand while the other attempted to remove his face from the safety of the cushions.

"Lost." He spoke so softly that it took a moment for the dark skinned agent's movements to cease and Callen took that time to gather his disjointed thoughts before continuing. "I feel lost. And scared. And so confused," he admitted, turning his head and shifting his gaze to meet his partner's, "But I understand, Sam. I know what's happening, I do. I just can't stop it."

A sad smile worked its way onto the older man's face as he squeezed Callen's shoulders once more. "That's why you have us, G."

* * *

For the first time in her memory the boathouse was full, and Kensi found the situation more than a little unnerving. Eric had worked his magic again, tracking down every child who had ever passed through Marvin Kane's door. Out of the one hundred and seventy-four name he'd come up with, the computer tech had reported only forty-three of them appeared to have survived into adulthood, at least, that he could find any records of (which, considering what Kane was selling them for, meant the number was almost certainly inaccurate.) And out of those forty-three, only seventeen still lived in or around Los Angeles, still, that was more to fill up the boathouse.

"Alright everyone, if you could have a seat please."

Nate's voice pulled Kensi from her thoughts and forced her attention to return to the present, a room full of men ranging in age from thirteen year old Matthias to a man named Paul Clippin who was in his mid-forties. She watched as the group lowered themselves into the extra chairs she and Nate had brought in earlier in preparation, paying particular attention to Damon Harwood who had chosen the seat next to Matthias and appeared to be introducing himself to the boy softly. To her left, she noted that Detective Colby was choosing to focus on the four men dressed in prison uniforms with their hands and feet shackled and guards standing just behind them, while to her right Nate was observing everyone equally.

Once their guests had settled themselves, Nate gave Kensi a nod, and she cleared her throat, effectively taking the lead. "Hello everyone, I'm NCIS Special Agent Kensi Blye," she told the crowd, tuning her voice to be nothing but professional, "This is our Operational Psychologist, Dr. Nate Getz and LAPD Detective Jared Colby," she indicated each man as she spoke.

"What do you want with us?" one of the prisoners spat, attempting to use his chained hands to emphasise his question.

Kensi didn't even blink, keeping her professional mask in place with ease. "I was getting to that," she replied calmly, producing a folded photograph of Marvin Kane from her back pocket and spreading it out before holding it up to the room. "Does anyone recognize this man?"

There was not one person in the room who didn't react (save for the prison guards.) Fear, anger, shame, dread, outrage, hatred, and all to varying degrees, manifested themselves on the faces of their guests. Matthias closed his eyes and turned away, shaking; Damon was wearing the same expression he had when they first met in his classroom, a desperate attempt to school all emotions off his face; one of the other prisoners was swearing profusely and so it continued.

Kensi put the picture away quickly, her own sadness at the reactions before her threatening to show. "I'm sorry," she apologized, "I had to do that."

"Like hell you did," a young man to her left said shakily, his attempts at a glare foiled by the fear still present in his eyes.

Before the agent could respond, another voice spoke up from the crowd. "I take it you guys figured it out?" Damon asked in a voice of would-be calm.

"We did," said Kensi softly, giving the dark haired man a sad smile before addressing the rest of the room, "And that's why you're all here. We recently opened an investigation into Marvin Kane and as of yesterday he has been arrested on multiple accounts of murder – among other things - and denied bail. He will never hurt anyone ever again."

Shocked faces and a stunned silence were all that met her statement before slowly a few smiles began to appear. Only Matthias kept his head down, something Damon seemed to notice for he squeezed the boy's knee reassuringly.

"This is your opportunity to add to the list of charges facing Mr. Kane, " Colby continued, picking up where Kensi left off, "Anything you may have seen or heard or experienced in your time there can help us get some long overdue justice for all of you, and for all those who didn't make it."

"I'd also like to make you all a standing offer," Nate added, "As a trained psychologist I am offering my services to each and every one of you, at any time, for any reason, free of charge." He moved around the room, handing a business card to each of the men seated before them.

"Why are you doing this?" someone asked after a moment.

Agent, detective and psychologist glanced at each other and Kensi sighed. "Because it's the right thing to do."

* * *

Twenty minutes later found Kensi, Nate and Colby walking quietly around the boathouse watching over their guests as they wrote out as much information as they could about the various crimes they'd seen committed by Marvin Kane. The four incarcerated men sat off to one side under the supervision of their guards, Matthias and Damon were still sitting together in a corner and the others were spread throughout the room, scribbling away. Still, Kensi was impatient. Despite getting regular texts from Sam updating her on Callen's condition she wanted nothing more than to return her injured teammate's side. She hadn't lied when she'd said what they were doing here was the right thing, but that didn't mean she couldn't be chomping at the bit for it to be over and done with.

Nate and Colby, she was sure, shared her sentiments but like her they kept the feelings to themselves. As she watched, the psychologist was pulled aside by one of the younger men in the room and sat down next to him, waiting patiently for him to sort out what he wanted to say. At the same time, Colby was talking softly with the four inmates, gesturing towards their written statements and apparently answering questions. It was times like this that she was reminded just how much she respected her colleagues, not for their skills, but for the kind of people they were. And despite everything, she found a smile had worked its way onto her face.

It was short-lived, however, for the boathouse door swung open suddenly. Detective Bronstrum stood on the threshold wearing an expression which told full well of the less-than-pleasant reception he was expecting to receive. Kensi, while sorely tempted to fulfil his expectation, fastened on her professional mask instead and moved towards him. "Detective," she greeted mechanically.

"Agent Blye," the older man replied, staring around the room with interest, "Thank you for inviting me. I doubt it was something any of you looked forward too."

Kensi made a point not to deny the suggestion. "Well, NCIS wanted to be sure you understood the situation," she said instead.

"Yeah…" Bronstrum sighed and ran a hand over his face heavily, "I just finished interviewing Kane myself, at your Operations Manager's request…" His voice trailed off and he stared around the room again. "Shit," he said softly, "All of them?"

"And more." Colby had appeared at Kensi's side, a grim expression on his face. "A list form out convict friends," he told the agent, passing it to her, "Everyone they saw or heard Kane dealing with. There're some pretty big names on there."

Scanning the paper, the young woman whistled softly. "No kidding."

Silence enveloped them, tense and awkward, until finally Bronstrum cleared his throat uncomfortably. "So," he began carefully, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, "I've already seen to it that the charges against Agent Callen are dropped, but there was a boy mentioned as well?"

Kensi nodded. "Matthias Kendall-Marks," she confirmed coldly, gesturing discreetly towards the teen still huddled in the corner, a haunted, distant look in his eyes, "The man next to him is Damon Harwood. It was his brother, Isaac, whose body your men found."

The detective inclined his head slightly. "I know," he sighed, "The report says that it was Matthias who shot the two other boys you found."

"He did," Colby replied, "He's admitted as much, but you can't possibly being thinking about charging him, not now that you know what happened to him."

Bronstrum eyed his fellow detective tiredly. "I'm not."

Kensi let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding while next to her Colby had much the same reaction. "Good," she said, relief evident in her voice, "Thank you, Detective."

"May I speak to him?"

Kensi and Colby exchanged a quick glance before the elder detective nodded. "Go easy on him," he instructed.

As she watched Bronstrum cross the boathouse, Kensi sighed. The only person in this whole mess getting charged was Kane. Just as it should be. The smile which had fallen away at the detective's arrival returned to her face at the thought. There was only one real question left to answer. "Hey, Detective," she called, waiting until the older man had turned to face her before continuing, "Why'd you investigate this case so hard?"

Bronstrum considered her for a moment. "The kid was the same age as my son," he said finally, a sad smile on his face, "He had batman shoes on, just like – " He cleared his throat, "It could have been him."

The young agent raised one eyebrow, turning to face Colby who was wearing a wry smile. "Not a conspiracy after all."

The older man just shook his head.


	26. Chapter 26

_**Author's Note:**_

_Alright, you all remember how I said I was good at the Hurt and not so good at the Comfort? Yeah, it's true. Oh well, what can you do? On the plus side, I got this chapter done! And I think there's only two or three more chapters left before I've officially finished my very first story! So excited. :) On the negative side, my update time is stupidly (is that a word?) long again. -_- If you're interested in the reason, read my author's note for Chapter 8 of my fic "Servant of the Game," but I'm not going to bother writing it out again here. _

_Anyway, moving on. Here we have Chapter 26! Yay! Please enjoy and don't forget to let me know what you think!_

_**Happy Reading!**_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

Sam had never known a week to drag by so slowly. The work which usually caused the hours to fly by seemed painfully slow without the playful banter he'd grown accustom to and the fact that no new cases had come across his desk didn't help either. Hetty had refused to give him time off, explaining that she could not have her whole go-to team unavailable at the same time and if she granted his request then she'd have to grant the others as well. Instead, she allowed each team member one extra day off, a different day for each of them, to spend assisting Detective Colby with Callen's around the clock care. The older man had managed what Sam could not and got his request for personal leave approved within a day which had enabled him to spend the past week at the dark skinned agent's home tending to their injured friend.

If he was honest with himself, Sam knew that Hetty had, once again, done what was best for all of them. By refusing them leave she'd ensured that Callen was not over crowded during the day and by setting out a specific day for each person she created a routine, something solid on which everyone could depend. Colby, who was the only person who had seen the younger man like this before, seemed not only willing but also able to handle being a fulltime caregiver and had taken it upon himself to be the constant in Callen's life while the others were at work. Sam had found himself wondering about the older man's ability many times over the past week but had yet to ask where the talent came from, still, it was Wednesday, his extra day off, so he figured he'd have plenty of time.

And speaking of Colby, the detective had just entered the room, tucking his cell phone into his back pocket with a small smile on his face. "Sorry about that," he apologized, taking a seat in an armchair across from his host, "My daughter, anyway, where were we?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted, "Look, I'm going to go check on G. I don't mean to be rude but –" He made to stand up but was interrupted by the older man.

"He's fine, I checked on him when I was up and he's still asleep."

"He's anything but fine, Detective."

Colby took the clipped tone in stride. "I know that, Agent Hanna, but this is Cal we're talking about, as much as we want to help him if we push too hard he'll just shut down."

A groan escaped him before he could stop it. "I know, I know," he said softly, running a hand over his shaved head. He shouldn't have snapped at the older man, they were past the formalities, he knew that but… He sighed, "I've told you before, it's Sam."

The detective gave him a small smile, taking the comment for the apology it really was. "And I'd tell you to call me Jared but nobody does, so just stick with Colby."

Sam chuckled weakly but said nothing. Silence enveloped the two men quickly and the dark skinned agent found his mind wandering once again. Callen's metal state had been akin to a yo-yo for the past week, there were moments when he seemed lucid, albeit confused, and still others when his grasp on reality seemed to slip completely away. This morning had been a bad one. His children, who had been remarkably good at keeping their voices down around their guest, had got into an argument over breakfast and Callen, who was still asleep at the time, awoke in full-blown panic. It had taken him more than an hour to get his partner calmed down and even now Sam was fairly certain it was exhaustion rather than relaxation which got the younger man back into bed. He'd told Colby about the incident when he'd arrived and they'd been waiting for Callen to wake up again ever since.

Shaking himself mentally, Sam forced the memories from his mind. There was nothing they could do right now and he knew it, what he needed was to get himself calmed down. He was no good to his partner if he couldn't even get a handle on his own emotions. "So, that was your daughter on the phone?" he asked, searching for some kind of distraction.

The detective looked up, an odd expression on his face. "My youngest, Josie."

"Does your family know Callen well?"

"My girls have all met him, and my late wife too, but it was really only Josie who spent much time with him and that still wasn't much," Colby shook his head with a sad smile, "Cal was always determined that he wasn't a member of the family and he didn't want to get in the way. I never did manage to convince him otherwise not matter how much I tried."

While the detective's statement wasn't at all unexpected it still caused a pang of sadness to well up within Sam. "That sounds like G," he said softly.

"He had his reasons," the older man sighed, "My family life wasn't exactly easy back then, still isn't really, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. Cal just thought he'd make it harder…" He fell silent, a faraway look in his eyes.

Despite his curiosity, Sam knew better than to push for more information. Colby wasn't a suspect he could interrogate, no matter how much he wanted to know the details. Instead he allowed the living room to fall silent again, leaning back in his armchair with his arms folded across his chest and his eyes closed while heaving a sigh of his own. This was going to be a long day… Maybe this was another reason Hetty hadn't allowed him personal leave, she knew the fact that he couldn't always do anything to help his partner would drive him insane.

The sound of running water rang out suddenly, pulling Sam from his thoughts and causing him to sit bolt upright as he searched for its source. Really, the sound wasn't that loud, nor was it uncommon in a house which normally housed four people, but the fact that at this perticular moment it could only be caused by one person had him on his feet and moving swiftly towards the bathroom with Colby on his heels. They found Callen leaning heavily on the bathroom sink while tap water flowed freely through his cupped hands. A few droplets fell from his chin and nose while a crumpled hand towel lay next to the basin.

"G?" Sam asked gently, knocking on the open door to announce his presence, "You good?"

Without moving from his position other than to rotate his hands under the continuing stream of water, Callen gave a stiff nod.

"What are you up to?" Sam continued when it became apparent that conversation was going to take some prompting, "Washing up a bit?"

The younger man didn't respond right away but after a few moments seemed to pull himself back to the present and raised his head slightly, fixing his gaze on Sam's reflection in the mirror. "Trying to wake up," he said softly.

Sam exchanged a look with Colby over his shoulder. At the very least Callen seemed to be coherent this time around and for that matter relatively calm as well. Of course, that didn't mean he looked good either. He was still leaning most of his weight on the sink before him, his hips and pelvis pressed against the cool porcelain, and a grimace of pain flashed across his face every few seconds.

"Hey Cal, how about we head into the living room and sit down for a bit," Colby suggested, "What do you think?"

The younger man's gaze returned to his hands as he nodded. " 'Kay," he agreed, but even with the affirmation he made no effort to move.

After a moment, Sam stepped forward, moving slowly and carefully so as not to spook his partner even as he reached around him, turned off the tap and handed him a dry towel. "C'mon, G, let's go sit down," he said kindly, hating the condescending tone even as it left his mouth, "C'mon…"

Together the three men made their way back to the living room with Callen shaking off any attempt the others made to help him walk. Still, both Sam and Colby remained close by until their injured friend was settled on the couch, laying on his good side with his head propped on up a pillow and watching them take their seats in the room's two armchairs.

"How're feelin'?" Sam asked as means of an icebreaker, wondering absentmindedly just how many times he'd asked his partner that since this whole mess began. More times than he cared to think about, that much was certain.

But the younger man was shaking his head, something akin to frustration playing on his face."No, no... Don't ask me that..." he said softly, but even then it was enough to silence the rest of the room. He took a deep breath, his eyes skirting over the furniture and for a moment it seemed that his nerves were going to fail him and then, quite suddenly, words began tumbling from his mouth. "I – I was wrong, at the beginning, I lied to you…"

Sensing where his partner's train of thought was headed, Sam bowed his head. "G…"

"No, Sam, don't. Please. I need to do this."

With a resigned nod the dark skinned agent signalled for Callen to continue even as his doubts continued to swirl around his head.

There was no hesitation this time, as though the words had been fighting to get out for far too long and they just couldn't wait anymore. "I killed Isaac, I remember now, I didn't want to but… He said it felt right but it didn't, not at first, and I knew it wasn't. He said someone was going to die, I thought he meant me, he always meant me but he didn't, not that time, he just wanted me to say it… 'Bout fucking time. That's what I said, I really thought he meant me but…" His voice broke, finally, and he clamped his mouth shut, the odd tremor passing visibly through his broken body.

"We know, Cal, we know – " Colby started gently but he never got the chance to finish.

"You don't know. You think he made me do it, but he didn't. He made me stand up and he gave me the gun and pulled on my ribs and they moved and crunched and –" Again Callen shook his head, more sharply than he had before as though he was trying to shake something right out of his mind. "He gave me the gun and told me to do it," he said finally, his voice having taken on an empty, emotionless tone, "And I did it. I shot Isaac. I killed him. And now you know so…"

"We're not leaving," said Sam sharply, pushing aside the horrified cold which had been spreading over him as his partner spoke and interrupting up before the younger man could get his final words out. This was precisely the reason he hadn't wanted to go down this road… "Look, we've known what happened for a while now, G, you know that, and we're still here. You know what Kane told us? That's what he did for money, he broke people, but it took him three times with you, three whole times and he still didn't get what he wanted. You didn't do anything wrong, you were just trying to survive."

"Sam's right, Cal," Colby nodded, "You're not a bad person. This doesn't change anything."

"I feel like a bad person…"

"Which just proves that you're actually a good person. You feel guilty."

The two partners stared at each other until Callen dropped his gaze and gave a single, stiff nod. But Sam didn't care how unenthusiastic the action was or how fascinating the couch had suddenly become to the other man for what he had seen in those bright blue eyes had hope bubbling up inside him. For the first time since he'd fired Nate's character more than a week ago there was clear, focused understanding in Callen's eyes.

"You might not believe us right now, but I'm sure you will once you get things figured out," said Colby confidently.

Callen nodded again before raising his head and glancing around the room. "Where're the others?" he asked softly.

"At work," Sam replied, selfishly grateful for the change of topic, "They were all planning to stop by and see you on their way home."

His partner frowned. "Nate's gonna make me talk about this, isn't he?"

The older agent smiled, still encouraged by the familiar light in his best friend's eyes. "What Nate doesn't know he can't interrogate us about," he joked lightly.

Callen stared at him for a moment before a tiny, uncertain smile of his own crept on to his face. "That's true."

Sam's smile turned into a grin at his partner's reaction and he was laughing before he could stop himself. Maybe just maybe everything would be alright.


	27. Chapter 27

_**Author's Note:**_

_Wow. No, wow doesn't cut it. Holy crap. Still not good enough but it will have to do, the point is I DID IT! This is, ladies and gentlemen, the last chapter! It's done! It's really done! You have no idea how happy this makes me… Actually, this isn't quite the last chapter, there will be an epilogue yet but that doesn't really count as a chapter in my mind so I'm going to celebrate anyway! XD And while I celebrate, please enjoy the chapter and thank you, thank you, thank you for sticking with me. _

_**Happy Reading!**_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

It was nearing seven in the evening by the time Nate, Kensi and Hetty finally made it to Sam's house. A new case had come up, a suspicious hit-and-run involving a Navy SEAL home on leave, and the fact that they were two men short meant that even that relatively simple investigation had taken far longer than it normally would have. Kensi had been the only agent at work, after all, at least on their team.

And speaking of Kensi… "Did you hear from Sam at all today?"

Nate shook his head even as he reached out and rang the doorbell. "No," he said softly, then, catching his co-worker's worried look he added, "But I'm sure that's a good thing."

Kensi nodded, though she didn't look entirely convinced, but the front door swinging open before them saved her from having to reply. Sam stood in the doorway, and Nate, who had begun searching his demeanor for any indication of how his day had been, was surprised to a genuine smile on the dark skinned man's face.

"Mr. Hanna," Hetty greeted in her customary manner, "Is now a good time?"

They all understood what the question was really asking - was Callen able to handle visitors at the moment – and when Sam nodded and stepped back to allow them entrance they all breathed a sigh of relief. The three of them followed their host into the living room, matching smiles appearing on their faces at the sight of their injured teammate sitting up on the couch while he flicked through the channels on Sam's big screen television.

"G?" the dark skinned agent announced gently, "You've got visitors."

Callen glanced in their direction and Nate was pleased to see clear recognition in those bright blue eyes. "Why are you so late?" the smaller man asked curiously.

"New case," Kensi replied automatically, moving to sit beside her senior agent on the couch and briefing him as she'd done countless times before, "Suspicious car accident involving a Navy SEAL."

The blond tilted his head slightly, the inquisitive look on his face somehow making him seem years younger. "Suspicious?"

As Kensi began detailing the case to Callen with more enthusiasm than Nate had seen out of her in the past week, he, Sam and Hetty took their respective seats around the living room and nodded in greeting to Detective Colby who had his feet up in his armchair. That simple gesture, along with Sam's smile, told the psychologist just as much as the clarity in G's eyes. Today had been a good day.

Gradually conversation broke out among the group and Nate sat back, observing it all with a smile. Hetty and Detective Colby were conversing quietly while Sam had joined Callen and Kensi on the couch and for the first time since this whole ordeal had begun the psychologist could just make out the old team dynamic to which they all grown so accustom. Still, there were certainly some things which were just a bit off. Despite the fact that he appeared calmer than Nate had seen him in some time, Callen seemed somewhat uncertain about his presence. Bright blue eyes flashed in his direction every few moments and it seemed that he was rapidly losing interest in the conversation bombarding him from either side.

"Something you want to tell me?" he asked the injured man gently, effectively silencing all other conversation in the room. Somewhere in the back on his mind, the psychologist noted how heightened the team's reactions were but he pushed the observation aside and focused instead on the task at hand.

Callen was shaking his head, his eyes just a little too wide. "No."

Nate nodded slowly, keeping his behaviour as neutral as possible. The last thing he wanted to do was send his was send his already fragile teammate into yet another state of panic but that didn't mean he couldn't push just a little. "You sure?"

The smaller man glanced back at Sam, as though looking for some kind of reassurance, before nodding quickly. "Yes, I'm sure."

But even as the answer came, the psychologist knew it was a lie and that fact scared him more than he was prepared for. In all the years he had known their team leader he'd never once been able distinguish with one hundred percent accuracy between the truths and the lies which sprouted effortlessly off the older man's tongue. But this wasn't Special Agent Callen, one of the country's best undercover specialist and the man who routinely messed with him during their annual psych evaluations, this was G Callen, the frightened, lonely child trying to piece the man he'd grown into back together again.

Forcing a smile he didn't not feel, Nate returned his teammate's nod, albeit more calmly, and conceded to the lie for the sake of keeping the conversation going. "Alright," he smiled, "That's fine. Do you mind if I ask what you did today, though?"

Callen blinked then shrugged uncertainly. "Nothing," he replied cautiously, glancing back at his partner once more.

Nate, however, found himself more interested in the dark skinned man's reaction. The ex-SEAL smiled slightly at his best friend's words and exchanged a quick glance with Colby, who was mirroring the facial expression from his laid back position. Narrowing his eyes the psychologist sighed. Great…

"We mostly just hung around and watched TV, right G?" Sam supplied helpfully but he caught Nate's eye even as he spoke and gave him a pointed look.

And suddenly it all made sense. Sam wanted his partner to have this lie. Whatever had happened, it wasn't that he was being kept in the dark, not really, it was the simple fact that if this was any other day, a normal day, Callen would have kept this to himself and the ex-SEAL wanted to give him that normalcy. It was actually a pretty good idea, if, of course, he could get Sam to let him in on what happened later…

"What did you watch on TV?" Kensi asked brightly, obviously just as intent on keeping the conversation going as he was.

Callen shrugged again. "Sports mostly, and an old James Bond movie…"

"Goldfinger," Sam added.

"Really?" Kensi asked, leaning forward on the couch and grinning at Sam, "You own it?"

Nate just chuckled softly to himself. There was no doubt the conversation would continue now…

* * *

An hour later found Callen asleep on the couch while yet another James Bond movie – Live and Let Die – played softly in the background. Sam and Kensi were engrossed in the film, Colby had excused himself some fifteen minutes ago to answer a phone call from his daughter and Hetty, despite being settled in her armchair, seemed unusually distracted. Nate was about to ask her what was on her mind when the detective returned, tucking his phone away in his pocket.

"Ah good, Detective, would you mind keeping an eye on Mr. Callen for a moment?" Hetty asked, standing up before Colby could even sit down, "I need to speak with my team for a moment, in private."

If Colby found the sudden announcement strange he kept it well hidden, accepting the request politely and taking a seat beside their injured friend while Sam, Kensi and Nate followed their boss's lead and stood up, casting each other confused glances as they did so.

"Mr. Hanna, is there somewhere we can talk?" Hetty asked calmly.

"Um, yeah. My study," said Sam, forcing his own confusion away as he led the group out of the living room and down a simply decorated hallway.

"So, what really happened today that Callen didn't want to tell me about?" Nate asked as they walked, taking the opportunity before they were distracted by whatever it was Hetty wanted to talk to them about.

"He talked to us about Kane," the dark skinned man replied, pausing in front of a wooden door and pushing it opened before leading them inside, "He didn't say a lot but…" And he was off, attempting to explain everything that had happened during the day in as much detail as he could. "It's him in there today," he added as he finished, smiling despite their topic of conversation, "I mean he's still seriously messed up and scared and whatever else you want to call it but it's him, Nate."

Kensi, who had been listening in with a facial expression just as bright as that of her teammate, laughed softly. "It's Callen, Sam, he took five bullets to the chest and didn't even take his full sick leave. He'll be back before we know it."

But while the two agents spoke, the psychologist's eyes had fallen on Hetty and he felt his happiness melt away. The tiny Operations Manager stood a few paces in front of them, her hands clasp together at the waist, her head bowed and he knew. Really, he'd known for a while, but he hadn't wanted to believe it. Still, when his boss raised her head and met his gaze with her own, full of more pain than he'd ever seen in it before, he nodded. It had to be done.

"Miss Blye," said Hetty softly, "Mr. Hanna. I'm afraid Mr. Callen will not be returning to NCIS this time."

"What?"

"Hetty, you can't serious!"

Sam and Kensi exclaimed at the same time, the joy and hope on their faces twisting into looks of hurt, shock, anger and sadness in a matter of seconds. The change was so drastic that Nate could physically feel it hit him, or perhaps it was his own reaction to hearing the words spoken aloud - Callen wouldn't be coming back - he couldn't really tell.

"I am serious, Miss Blye," Hetty's voice, by contrast, was remarkably calm though her eyes were still dulled by sadness, "The discovery of a criminal record, and a lengthy one at that, his exposure during the manhunt, his picture on the news, breaking out of police custody, the assault on two police officers… This isn't something that can be swept under the rug, much as we desire to do so, at least not well enough for me to safely place him undercover once more. "

"And that's assuming that he'll ever be able to pass the psych evaluation again," Nate added quietly, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

Kensi looked outraged, her mouth hanging open slightly as she stared around at each of them. "No," she said finally, "No, there has to be something we can do to get him back in!"

"Kensi…" Nate started but was cut off by the agent in question.

"He will pass the exam, Nate! He'll get better! He has to…"

The psychologist remained silent, unwilling more than unable to argue with her. Callen's job was his life, his teammates were the closest thing to a family he'd ever known and it was all about to come to an end… He sighed heavily and was about to reengage in the conversation when Sam beat him to it.

"I'm not giving up on him," he said firmly, his dark eyes narrowed, "And even if he can't come back, I'm not leaving him."

Kensi nodded, moving to stand beside her teammate. "I'm with Sam."

Nate, who was more than a little relieved by the way the team seemed to be handling this news flash, joined the group. "Count me in."

Hetty just smiled sadly. "I expected nothing less from any of you," she sighed, a hint of pride evident in her voice.

A strange silence fell over them for a moment, tense and dejected at the same time, angry yet tired, confusing and yet enlightening, determined but helpless... A smothering mixture of everyone's emotions, Nate decided. If he wasn't so entrapped in it he would have found it fascinating.

"So what happens now?" Kensi asked abruptly, pulling the group form their assorted thoughts, "We're two men short…"

Sam stiffened visibly at the reminder of Dom's disappearance on top of everything else but he remained silent, allowing their Operations Manager to speak.

"For the time being I have made an official request to have Agent Renko transferred to our team and I am in the process of locating a temporary replacement for Agent Vail," the tiny woman replied, "Mr. Hanna, you will take over as our Supervisory Special Agent."

The newly promoted agent nodded, looking anything but pleased but still managing a grim smile. "I'm not giving up on Dom either," he said sharply, "So don't bother with the replacement and tell Renko not to get comfortable." He turned and left the room without another word.

Kensi followed him silently, apparently unable to think of anything else to add, leaving Hetty and Nate alone. The Operations Manager sighed heavily and turned away, bowing her head once more but otherwise standing still as a statue, sadness radiating off her in waves. It was a vulnerability the psychologist had never seen in her before, and one he never wanted to see again.

"You did the right thing, Hetty," he said softly, hoping to convince himself as much as his boss, "We'll be okay."

And as the woman he'd come to admire so much turned back to face him he caught a slight wetness in her eyes.

"I hope you're right, Mr. Getz…"

* * *

**Well, there it is, my first ever completed story. Now, as I mentioned in the Author's Note, there is still going to be an epilogue but I'm not sure when it'll be up because before I write it I need to make a very important decision. There is the possibility for a sequel, I've had a few different plot bunnies nibble at my brain with regards to it but I haven't really given it much thought yet. So, if any of you lovely readers have any ideas, please feel free to let me know. Now, I'm going to warn you all now, this sequel may not happen and if it does it won't be for a while. I don't want to make the same mistake I made with this story and start writing without a plan so I will take my time laying it all out before hand and do the thing properly if the right plot comes to me. **

**Either way, sequel or no, I will let you all know when I post the epilogue. **

**Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed the ride!**

**-Prickly **


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